Wishing Only Wounds the Heart
by Dude13
Summary: When Mac accidentally runs into a stranger one day, he recieves a blast from the past, plunging him, Frankie, Bloo and the others into a chaotic adventure of revenge and eventual redemption.[coauthored with lucyrocks73, COMPLETE]
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE! AUTHOR'S NOTE! AUTHOR'S WARNING! I IMPLORE YOU, PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE _ANYTHING ELSE!_**

Heh heh...uh, sorry about that, but I really need to grab your attention somehow. Anyway, first thing's first:

1. This fic is a **_sequel_**, part of my series if you will. If this is the** _first _**of my stories that you are reading, then I dearly implore you to turn back now, or you will have absolutely **_NO _**idea what's going on. Instead, I strongly recomend you to read my other mutli-chaptered story, " More Than My Friend" first if you haven't yet, so you will have a clear idea exactly what the heck is going on. Yeah, all my other one-shots are technically part of the series too, but you can read those anytime, it's "More Than My Friend" that will clearly explain everything that's going on so far. Just a warning though, it's actually _2 _multi-chapter stories in one, which yes, unfortunately, you have to read them both (I'm _really_ sorry it turned out like that, at the time my computer refused to let me upload the second story as a seperate file, and I had to tack it all on to the other.) Yeah, so if you haven't read that story yet...please do before this one! I don't want anyone getting confused(also, just because I wrote it a while ago doesn't mean at all I won't except any more reviews for it. If you guys have anything to say, good or bad, you're more than free to comment.)

2. Second of all, this is going to be **_DUEL-AUTHORED _**story. That is, I'm writing this along with lucyrocks73 (she's the one who came up with the idea) and we're going to be writing this in a style of alternating chapters (I write chapter 1, she writes chapter 2, etc.) Two authors, not one!

...Wow, I just sounded like a total nut with all that now, don't I? Argh, my bad, my bad, sorry! I just really don't want to leave any readers out there in the cold about what the heck is going on, and this was the best idea I could come up with to warn all you guys. Don't worry, hopefuly I won't be acting like that again anytime soon.

Okay, now that I got all that out of the way, here we go! Partially from the same guy who brought you "More Than My Friend" and "Falling Apart", and also brought to you by a newcomer to the Foster's area (give her a round of applause), we give you...our first co-authored story!

Enjoy!

Please Read and Review!

(Oh yeah...chapter 1 is written by me...lucyrocks73 is doing #2)

* * *

There are many people who favor the winter season, when the brisk coldness seems to envelop the land in a dignified silence, and the earth appears to be snuggly wrapped in a blanket of pure white snow. There are others however, that much rather prefer the resurrection that seems to occur when spring rolls around, when vegetation, after lying dormant for months, suddenly bursts into bloom in a dazzling array of colors, while a gentle warmth arrives to drive away the dark chill of the previous season. However, when it comes to those damp, gray, drizzly weeks of transition that occurs between the two seasons, most of both sides will agree that particular time of the year leaves a lot to be desired. 

Not for a certain eight-year-old boy, though. As Mac casually exited his school doors, many of his classmates rushed by in an utter panic. As some children frantically tried to throw hoods over their heads or fix on their winter hats, others struggled to open up small umbrellas as they dashed towards the refuge of waiting school buses, eager to flee the cold drizzle that pelted the earth. However, while his schoolmates acted as if they were being showered with acid rain, Mac only laughed happily as he eagerly tossed the hood of his jacket back, sighing contently as the scattered rain droplets tickled his face. While others regarded this kind of weather as absolutely repulsive, Mac on the other hand enjoyed every moment of these gray, drizzly afternoons. To the boy, it wasn't raining hard enough to cause any great discomfort, but it was precipitating just enough for him to happily enjoy on his walk home without fear of catching cold.

Giggling uncontrollably, the boy twirled and skipped down the sidewalk in an easy, carefree manner, dancing merrily around smaller puddles, yet at the same time taking extra care to splash happily in any larger ones without a second thought. True, it was a bit of a silly and it didn't exactly make any sense, but that was the last thing on Mac's mind as he threw back his head to catch a couple of cool droplets on his tongue. Still laughing merrily, the boy cut the perfect picture of carefree childhood innocence in it's prime. Frisking about in and out of puddles, sliding on the odd patches of ice that had yet to be claimed by the upcoming spring season, and all the while absentmindedly humming a little tune, it seemed as if there was nothing that would be able to disturb this warm, almost picturesque moment.

"WHOA!"

Carried away in his little world of make-believe, Mac didn't even see the stranger coming up the other way down the sidewalk as he happily skipped over a rivulet. Suddenly, the child found himself crashing headlong straight into another body, an apparent stranger who yelled in surprise as the eight year old collided with his stomach and sent them both sprawling onto the wet cement pavement. As the mysterious person fell backwards into an unfortunately large puddle with a grunted swear, Mac yelped in shock as his momentum kept him sailing a few feet to unceremoniously skid to a clumsy stop after making contact back with the ground.

"Dammit!" The stranger swore angrily as his jeans became soaked with freezing rainwater. Almost immediately Mac struggled to scramble back to his feet, apologizing profusely as he rushed over to give a helping hand to the mysterious person whom he had so unexpectedly inconvenienced.

"Oh no! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" the boy babbled in atonement as he grabbed hold of the other's arm and began to yank him back to his feet. "Oh please, I'm so very sorry! I never went to run into like that, I swear!"

The stranger only huffed bitterly in reply as he was pulled back onto stable footing, immediately withdrawing his hand roughly from Mac's hands to wipe excess water from his raggedy jeans and black leather jacket.

"God damn, this is my favorite jacket, you little punk…" he mumbled darkly under his breath as he focused on his soaked clothing, not bothering to give the sorry-looking boy so much as a passing glance, much less a word of gratitude.

"Please, I'm so sorry!" Mac insisted again, scuffing the sidewalk with his sneaker in a guilty fashion. "I never meant to knock you over, it was just an accident! I just-"

"Hey, you listen here, twerp!" Came the harsh reply as the stranger finally looked up angrily. "If you think you're gonna get outta this by just sayin' you're sorry, then you got another…"

"Hey if you'll just let me…"

Neither one finished what they had wished to say. Instead, as soon as the pair made eye contact, if was as if both had been struck mute by some mysterious power. A deafening silence took hold as the two stood motionlessly in place and stared blankly into each other's eyes, as if they were a bizarre piece of art that some careless artist had left outside by accident.

It lasted for about a minute. Suddenly, as if by magic, Mac snapped out of it as the cold, icy grip of unfathomable terror ruthlessly grabbed hold of his heart. With a gasp, the boy suddenly darted off and around the stranger, racing furiously down the sidewalk at a dizzying speed tat would've left children twice his age stranded in the dust.

"Hey! Hey! Come back!" the other yelled, but it was of no use. Blinded with the most unspeakable fright, Mac could hear nothing but the sound of his breath coming in ragged sobs and the sound of his sneakers thudding madly against the pavement below him as he rushed home in a mad dash. Gone was the joy and mirth that he had felt only minutes before, now there was nothing but a feeling of unimaginable panic, accompanied by a maddening desire to flee to refuge. His hear beating like mad, eyes practically bulging out of his sockets, while tears of fright streaked down the sides of his face in twin rivulets, Mac rush wildly on, borne by the strength of desperation in his urge to escape, the only thing on his mind.

As he rounded a corner and continued his mad rush to safety, an overwhelming feeling of relief washed over Mac the moment he spotted the large Victorian mansion looming in the distance. The second the eminent structure came into view, the boy took one deep breath and put on an extra spurt of desperate speed, putting in every ounce of energy his body possessed to complete the final sprint home. After racing alongside the imposing iron fence that lined boundaries of the extensive property of the mansion, Mac made a sharp ninety-degree turn and bolted through the metal gates, screaming at the top of his lungs as he raced up the walkway.

"FRANKIEEEEEEEEEEE!"

* * *

Frances "Frankie" Foster came to a dead halt midway across the foyer. Still clutching her overflowing laundry basket in hand, the redheaded young woman paused momentarily as the sounds of a strange commotion coming from outside reached her ears. Brow furrowing in concern, the girl cocked her head towards the doorway as she listened intently to the odd, muffled cries that appeared to be rapidly growing in volume by the moment. 

"What the-"

Before she could get any further, the doors suddenly burst open as if they had been slammed by a battering ram, and immediately something zoomed inside in a blur.

"AAA!"

_THUMP!_

Frankie could barely emit so much as a squeal of shock before it felt as if she had been hit in the chest by a tiny cannonball. With a grunt the young woman was knocked clean off her feet and sent sprawling backwards onto the floor, and for an instant the air became thick with a shower of filthy clothing as her laundry basket flew from her hands and upturned in the air. Moments after her back made painful contact with the tile floor, Frankie ripped off a pair of dirty boxers that had deposited themselves neatly on her head and growled as she angrily scrambled upright into a sitting position to face her surprise assailant.

"All right!" she snarled irritably, tearing off a grimy shirt adorning her shoulders. "Just what do you think you're…"

The furious inquiry died upon her lips as soon as she laid eyes upon her "attacker." Shivering uncontrollably and clinging to her tightly as if for dear life, Mac's hysterical sobs of terror were muffled as he tried to bury his face deep into Frankie's chest. With one glance at his horrifying condition, the expression of irritable fury disappeared from the young woman's face within an instant to be quickly replaced by a look of deep, almost motherly concern.

"Mac?" Frankie asked incredulously in a soft whisper. "Mac, what happened-"

Mac only responded with a pitiful whimper as he just tightened his already vice-grip hold on her as he tried to bury deeper into the warm refuge his big sister's body could offer. Instinctively Frankie hurriedly threw her arms around the eight-year-old, hugging him close in a protective embrace.

"Shhhhh." she hushed comfortingly, cradling Mac close to her. "It's okay pal, it's okay. I'm here, it's gonna be alright." Frankie whispered soothingly in an attempt to calm the badly rattled child.

"F-Frankie, I-" Mac tried to whine, but this pathetic attempt to communicate was abruptly cut off as he became completely overcome with a mixture of fright and horrible shock, and his quivering little body became utterly wracked with harsh sobs. As the child wept freely in his terror, Frankie continued to try and console the hysterical eight-year-old, gently stroking his head and continuing to whisper comfortingly into his ear.

"It's okay pal, it's okay." She continued to reassure him warmly. "Don't cry, it's gonna be alright. Shhhhhhh, it's okay, it's-"

However, nothing could prepare the young woman for the shocking revelation that came next when her little brother suddenly lifted his head from her shoulder, looked straight at her through puffy, tearstained eyes, and managed to blurt out the complete unthinkable.

"T-Terrence." Mac whispered hoarsely. "Terrence is back."

* * *

Alright, chapter 1, DONE! Let our insane plot-twisitng begin!

Please review!

(Once again...my apologies for sounding totally insane at the begining...I'm quirky like that)


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's notes: Hi, it's lucyrocks73 this time! I would just like to say thank you for all the support you guys have been giving us. I'd also like to thank Dude13 for letting me work on this with him.**

**A big shout out to all of our lovely reviewers… YOU GUYS (and girls) ARE ROCKIN'!**

**Yeah, thanks to azuretears , who figured out where the title came from! Dude13 and I were trying to come up with titles, and I happened to be listening to Wicked at the same time…**

**So… without further ado… here's chapter two (shudders I didn't mean to rhyme! That was incredibly lame…)**

_(Quick note by Dude13: All Reviews For this chapter I will foward to lucyrocks73. Enjoy!)_

* * *

Terrence just watched as the boy ran off, awestruck. It couldn't be Mac- it just couldn't. Mac must have been sent to a foster home, or an orphanage or something. 

He thought about it, and he knew that he had not been mistaken- the child was most definitely his younger brother. The look of terror in the child's eyes, the way he had been so quick to give a helping hand- there was no doubt in his mind.

The teen slid the skimpy jacket off of his thinning body, and shook out some of the murky water that had soaked in. When he said that it was his favorite jacket, he actually meant that it was his only jacket… that he knew of at least. Until he had looked into horror-filled eyes of his younger brother, he had no memories of life before the accident.

* * *

Terrence remembered waking up in a field on the side of the road, not knowing who he was or how he had gotten there. He tried to get up, but a pain in his head kept him from succeeding. He shifted his glance to the freezing cold snow around him, and noticed the blood all around him. He shivered, wondering why he had such a thin jacket on in this weather. 

He tried one last time to get up, and managed it this time. Terrence stopped and caught his breath for just a moment, just a moment. He slowly walked around the field. The remains of a car were scattered all around. The glass was shattered, the metal torn. Crimson snow was also in this area. The only intact item was the license plate. It appeared that the car had flipped over several times, and then smashed into the field.

Who were the unfortunate people to have been in this accident? Whose loved ones had died? Obviously, no one survived. Their identities would be figured out by the license plate, no doubt.

What had he been doing? Was he the sole survivor of this tragic accident?

He put his hand in his pocket, and brought out a black denim wallet. Flipping through the cash and change, he found what he was looking for: an ID card. Of course, being the age that he was, it was only a card to be used to get into school functions. But it had everything he was looking for, including his name, birthday, and age. His name was Terrence… why didn't he remember who he was?

He continued to walk around the splintered metal and shattered glass. Suddenly, he stopped so short that it took a moment to connect to his brain that his feet were to stop walking. He heard some glass splinter under his foot, but he couldn't have cared less.

Right in front of him, scattered in a pool of blood that had not yet sunk into the snow, was hair. Human hair. And sticking out from under the wreckage was a hand. Just a hand- no body was connected to it.

He looked in horror at what he had just found. The person who had died was obviously a professional of some sort, for the nails were painted a professional dark red. A woman, it must have been.

Terrence backed up from the hand, still not caring if he stepped on glass. He turned around and starting running- no, sprinting- away from the scene of the accident. He never looked back.

* * *

Terrence ran. For how long, he never knew. It must have been far, for the faint beginnings of a sunrise appeared along the horizon. He collapsed in the back alley of a Burger King, and everything went black. 

The next thing he knew, someone was shaking him.

"Dude? You all right? Hello? Dude?"

Terrence moaned, the pain in his head as strong as ever.

"Dude?"

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?" he screamed, head pounding. He opened his eyes, and saw a young red-haired man of about twenty, clad in a Burger King uniform. An employee name tag read "CONNOR" in large, easy-to-read uppercase letters.

Connor frowned, as if disappointed. "I just saw you out here and I got worried, that's all."

"Oh… sorry I screamed like that… my head kind of hurts," Terrence replied.

"Apparently," Connor muttered under his breath, but loud enough that Terrence could still understand what he had said. "So, who're you?"

"I'm Terrence."

"Terrence…"

"Uh…" He thought for a minute. He decided not to use the name on the ID card, just in case. "Smith."

Connor smiled. "I'm Connor Daily, and if you can't tell I work at Burger King, among other things."

Terrence raised an eyebrow. "Other things?"

Connor laughed, and helped Terrence to his feet. "I also work at a hospital during the day. Mostly with kids. I want to become a doctor someday. Not sure if that'll happen anytime soon, though."

"Why?"

Connor looked around and whispered in Terrence's ear. "Well, we're kind of low on money if you know what I mean. My mom's the manager of this Burger King, and the regional director for this part of the state. It got me through high school, but I can't go to college yet."

Terrence nodded. He had a feeling that he could relate somehow, but he didn't know where it came from.

"So, Terrence, I just took up five minutes of your time with my life story. What's yours?"

"Uh… Well, I'm uh… seventeen, and my… uh… parents are…. um, not around much.

"Do you go to school?"

Terrence shook his head. "Do you know where I could get a job?"

Connor glanced behind him at the door, which had "EMPLOYEES ONLY" scrawled on it in black Sharpie on a yellow piece of paper.

"I think I know a place."

* * *

And that's where Terrence stayed. He lied, and lied some more, and weaseled his way into a job at the Burger King. Although he worked under minimum wage, he soon was able to rent a room in the basement of Connor's house. 

He refused to let Connor's mother take away the filthy and bloody clothing he had when he moved in. Connor, after a few days with Terence, knew better then to ask questions.

But he was smart enough to be able to do something with them himself.

A few months after the two had met behind Burger King, Terrence came home from his shift to find Connor looking through the wallet that had been in his pocket.

To his horror, he found that the other boy was staring at his ID card, which said he was only thirteen.

"You… you _lied_." Connor announced accusingly, dumbstruck. "You're only thirteen! Do you have any clue how much trouble my mom can get in if the state finds out that she hired someone underage? I knew you looked too young. I knew it!" he spat.

Connor's face was red with fury, and Terrence felt no pity for him.

* * *

Late that afternoon, he put back on his original clothing, grabbed some food to stuff in his pockets, and started walking. He didn't care where to. But before he left, he scrawled a note. 

_"Happy now? Now you can go take care of all of your little kiddies in peace."_

After a few days, he found himself close to where the accident had been. Terrence walked past it without looking.

Maybe that's why he was so distracted. Maybe that's why he didn't notice the kid skipping towards him.

The next thing he knew, he was soaked to the bone in bitterly cold water from a nearby stagnant puddle. The only clothing he owned in the entire world was sopping. How would he make it through the night without freezing?

He cursed at the kid, and it wasn't until his eyes met the kid's that he snapped. Completely snapped. Suddenly, he was completely overwhelmed almost to the point of bursting with a flood of memories as his amnesia was gone literally within a matter of moments. Everything- the accident, life before it, his mother, and most importantly the kid- who just happened to be his younger brother, Mac.

It all came back to him. That fateful night, his mother had been driving Terrence home from Ben's house. Terrence was still trying to make peace with his so-called "friend" after the incident with Mac and that damn caretaker at that weirdo house, that...that...what was it called again?

"Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends"...yes, that was it. Mac's haven, and a place where he could escape from Terrence. Terrence, Ben, and other members of their gang needed a way to get their drugs carted around, and Terrence had volunteered his brother. It seemed like a good idea at the time. What on earth was an eight-year-old kid going to do about it? Nothing, as planned...however, _no one _expected the intervention of a certain twenty-two-year-old young woman who could deal out punches like a heavyweight boxer.

What a mistake _that_ it been to include Mac! The entire scheme had ended in complete disaster in a fight (more like a massacre, actually) between Frankie (yes, that was the name of that damn caretaker) and the gang, topped off with a humiliating forced promise from Terrence that he would _never _touch Mac again.

Then Ben and the gang naturally blamed_ him _for the whole fiasco. They didn't dare go near Mac after that, none of them were dumb enough to cross Frankie's path. So it was up to Terrence to replace all the marijuana that his little brother Mac had trashed.

Or at least give the money to replace it, either way it was a considerable amount. Ben had stated that the only way he'd make it seem like it had never happened was if Terrence paid by a certain date. Of course, Terrence, being thirteen, underage, and without a job, hadn't a cent he could call his own. All of his money went to the drugs, and of course Ben, being his dealer too, was in absolutely no mood to loan any of that back. He managed to make a few payments from time to time, but _never_ enough to pay for what Mac had destroyed.

The deadline had been the night of the accident. Terrence had been greeted with a hello from Ben's mother, who was oblivious to the fact that her own son was not only a drug addict, but a dealer at the same time, and a dealer in a dire fiscal situation for that manner. Ben came into the room, and pretended that everything was normal between them. They played "Sims" on the computer until his mother left the room.

At that point, Ben shot up from his seat and roughly pinned Terrence to the wall. "Okay, time's up!Where is it? Where's the money?"

Terrence, who was gasping for air, rasped, "I-I don't have it… I'm broke, you know that. I've really tried to get it, I swear, but-"

Ben went through Terrence's pocket and brought out his wallet.

"Twenty bucks? That'll cover a third of what you got left.The restI expect by _tomorrow_. Or_ else_." he snarled.

With that nasty bit of business concluded, Hhe released his grip on Terrence. They continued to pass the rest of the time playing "The Sims" in the rather tense environmentuntilTerrence had to leave.

The way home, he thought about how much Mac had screwed up his life. Everything was perfect until that little freak was born. It all started when their father left, and continued to get worse after that. And now, here he was, cleaning up the ugly mess that according to him, had been entirely _Mac's _fault.

Of course, then his thoughts were interrupted (or rather, completely erased) by the accident, and wouldn't resume until the day he saw Mac again.

He swore, if it weren't for that promise to Frankie, the one about not touching Mac, he'd kill that kid…

And until now, he had kept that promise.

But as Mac dashed away, Terrence realized that today was the day.

The day the promise would be broken.

* * *

**Author's notes: Yeah, I know… not NEARLY as good as anything Dude13 could have done, but I think my chapters get better as the story moves along. **

**Now, make my day and review, please!**


	3. Chapter 3

A big thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far!

* * *

"…a-and then I saw him, right there in front of me!" Mac frantically finished stammering out his horrid experience. As the child paused to take in large gasps of air after blurting out his entire story, Mr. Herriman just stared at the child calmly from across his desk, arms folded and lips pursed. 

"Master Mac, are you quite positive that the young man you had a run-in with was indeed your deceased elder brother?" he asked quite solemnly. Seated across in a large cushioned armchair, the eight-year-old shook his head furiously in reply.

"No, no, that's the whole point!" he protested in a frantic babble. "_Terrence isn't dead_! I saw him, I saw him with my very own eyes! I was just walking home, and I ran right into him! He fell down, I helped him up, and then I saw that it was him! I swear! It really was, honest! He was there, I was there, he was wet and angry, I panicked, I ran home, and then, and then, I , uh, well then I ended up back here! I'm telling you guys, I saw Terrence! It was him, it was really _him_! I-"

At this point Mac's face had turned a vibrant shade of scarlet in his heightened excitement. Mac abruptly halted his frenzied jabbering to take in a few breaths of air in large, gulping gasps. As the frazzled child struggled to regain a shred of composure however, he seemed to overcompensate, and within a few moments he began to gag uncontrollably, and his little body became wracked with harsh, hacking coughs.

Frankie, who had been standing dutifully by his side, immediately leaned over to pat his back furiously in order to correct his struggled breathing, all the while whispering softly in an attempt to calm her badly rattled charge.

"Shhh, it's okay Mac, it's okay. Deep breaths pal, deep breaths. That's it, you got it, there we go…" she said encouragingly as Mac's breathing slowly but surely became less and less than that of a drowning swimmer. As the boy calmed down slightly under the cartaeker's assistance, Mr. Herriman meanwhile waited patiently behind his desk for a few moments before deciding it was proper to speak again.

"Now then, Master Mac," he began quite calmly. "Are you sure that you can say with the utmost confidence that you actually had a run-in with your deceas…uh, your brother?"

"What have I just been talking about for the last ten minutes?" Mac blurted out angrily, pushing Frankie away from him. "I-"

Before he let loose with another rambling and incoherent rant, the elderly rabbit cut Mac off with a wave of his hand. "Yes, yes, I know, I'm quite aware of your side of the story at this point! It's just that, well…"

Mr. Herriman paused slightly at this point and frowned slightly, unsure of how best to put it to the distraught boy.

"…if it really was Terrence that you saw today, then _why_? And _how_?" he asked rather bluntly. "Not that I wish to attack your character, mind you, but honestly, the whole thing seems a bit illogical to me. How on earth then did he survive that dreadful car accident?"

"I know, but-" Mac tried unsuccessfully to protest.

"Furthermore, if your brother is indeed alive and well, as you claim him to be, then why haven't we heard from him at all until this point? Surely if he survived, then wouldn't it make sense that-"

"Wait, are you saying that I'm making this all up?" Mac cried incredulously.

"Master Mac, please! I am in no way accusing you of fabricating a fraudulent tale!" Herriman replied defensively. "I'm merely trying to bring up the point that from a logical point, your story simply doesn't hold up. In all honesty, why-"

"So you think I'm lying, aren't you?" Mac responded almost accusingly, folding his arms in a huff. Herriman sighed heavily as he tried to justify his position.

"Master Mac, will you please stop interrupting me?" he demanded wearily. "As stated before, I do not at all wish to accuse you of purposely creating a false story. In my opinion, however, I believe that you simply had a nasty run in with another young man, who looked so much like Terrence due to a strikingly similar resemblance-"

"I know what I saw!" Mac declared fiercely. "That was no look-alike, I swear! It really was-"

"-That in your shock you mistook your stranger for him, thus accounting for the state of hysteria we found you to be in when your returned home." Mr. Herriman concluded flatly.

At this statement of opinion, the office fell into a deafening silence. For a few minutes, the eight-year-old just stared blankly into the rabbit's eyes with a look of complete and utter disbelief at what he had just heard, while Mr. Herriman calmly gazed back. Meanwhile, Frankie continued to stand by Mac's side awkwardly, anxiously glancing back and forth between the two, wringing her hands furiously and completely unsure of how to break the terrible silence. Finally however, after what felt like an eternity, the child turned his head to face the apprehensive young woman.

"Y-you believe me, d-don't you, Frankie?" Mac sniffled, looking into the caretaker's eyes hopefully.

Frankie just stared at him dumbly for a few moments as she gnawed on her lower lip in an agitated manner, uncertain on how she was to reply. Finally however, the girl managed to break out into a weak smile and began to stroke Mac's head in a comforting manner.

"It's okay pal, it'll be alright." she whispered reassuringly."You probably just saw someone who looked like him, that's all. It's okay, you-"

At this Mac immediately recoiled in disgust under her touch, shrinking back into the chair as he stared at her, wide-eyed and thunderstruck by her reply.

"_You_ think I'm lying too?" he asked her incredulously with mixed tones of crushing disappointment and bitter anger.

"Mac, please!" Frankie tried to defend herself, even though she had already begun to regret her course of action. "You didn't do anything wrong, it was just an honest mistake! It's all right, I swear! You just weren't expecting to see someone who looked so much like-"

"So you _do _think I'm a liar." Mac accused her flatly as the tears began to well up in his eyes.

"No, no!" Frankie denied the accusation frantically, waving her arms wildly. "I didn't say _that_! All I said was-"

"You _both_ thing I'm lying!" the eight-year-old sobbed as a few hot tears of rage began to trickle down his face. "Neither of you wants to-"

"Master Mac!" Mr. Herriman cut in, standing up out of his chair. "If you remember quite clearly, neither I nor Miss Frances accused you of such an act! All either of us have stated is that you-"

"I know what I saw!" Mac insisted furiously, pounding his little fists fiercely upon the armrest. "It was Terrence, I swear! It was him! It was him! It was him!"

After this barrage of persistence, the boy finally broke down in his bitter frustration. Mac threw his hands over his eyes to try and stem the flow of tears that streamed freely down his face, openly weeping in his intense disappointment. While the boy bawled uncontrollably, Mr. Herriman just stood by awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. Frankie however, upon seeing Mac's appalling distress, had been overtaken by her strong mothering instinct within an instant. Quickly she threw her arms around the wailing eight-year-old and tried to envelop him in a warm hug.

"Don't cry, please don't cry pal!" she whispered affectionately. "It's okay, it'll be-"

"No!" Mac snapped angrily, slapping her arms away. "Don't touch me!"

Dumbly Frankie withdrew from her attempted show of reassurance, looking badly hurt by his bitter refusal.

"Mac, please…" she murmured.

"No, just stop it!" the boy snarled angrily at her. "Will you please stop treating me like a baby? I don't want pity! I just-"

"Master Mac!" Mr. Herriman bellowed furiously, jabbing a finger at the child. "You will put an end to this blatant show of disrespect to your guardian this instant! All we wish to do is-"

"I"M NOT A LIAR!" Mac shrieked one last time. Before either the rabbit or young woman could respond, the boy clambered out of the chair and shot out of the office like a bullet, feebly trying to stem the flow of hot tears of rage as he sobbed uncontrollably.

"Mac!" Frankie cried as she attmpted to rush after him. "Mac, please! Don't-"

"Frankie, _no_! You stay away from me! Leave me alone! J-just leave m-me _alone_! None of you want to believe me!" the child managed to cry out in one last wretched sob as he raced up the staircase, and within an instant he had disappeared completely from sight.

For a few seconds, Frankie just stared blankly up at the staircase where she had last seen him, listening stupidly to the ever fainter and fainter sounds of Mac's weeping reverberating loudly throughout the upper hallways.

"Oh, God…" she moaned, clapping a hand to her forehead as she allowed herself to lean heavily against the doorway. Asa long,tortured sigh escaped from her throat, Mr. Herriman immediately leapt around his desk and hopped over to the side of the distressed girl.

"Shhh, there there, Frankie." He hushed comfortingly, dropping his usual formality. "You know he didn't mean to-"

"_He_ thinks that _we_ think he's a filthy liar." The girl cut him off with a muffled groan. At this Herriman began to gently pat her back in an effort to calm her down.

"Shhhh, don't you worry. He'll be just fine, just-"

"I've never seen hi so angry...he probably hates my guts now..." she just whined unhappily, burying her face in her hands and completely uneffected by his reassurances. Mr. Herriman frowned as he finally wrapped a fury arm about her, hugging her close like he would when the girl was younger and in need of comfort.

"Oh, come now, you know that's not true. Just give the child some time alone to clear his head. He'll be alright, you'll see."

At this Frankie removed her face from her hands to stare at him dumbly.

"The police never _did_ find Terrence's body after the accident, remember?" she whimpered sadly.

* * *

Laughing gleefully, the small, blob-shaped imaginary friend raced furiously down the hallway in a little azure blur. Bloo had been so caught up playing with Eduardo in the arcade room, he had lost track of time completely. It had only been a few minutes ago that he had glanced up at a clock only to realize with joy that it was long time since three-thirty, which could only mean that his best friend and creator had to be home. Although he hadn't actually even seen Mac yet, that did little to put a damper on Bloo's spirits. Giggling happily in his mirth, the little blob zoomed recklessly through the winding corridors and dodged wildly around imaginary friend and furniture alike, until finally he came to a skidding halt outside one of the countless doors that lined that many hallways of the old Victorian mansion. 

"MAC!" he squealed joyfully as threw his creator's bedroom door wide open. "Where ya been, buddy? C'mon, let's go outside and-"

"Just leave me alone!" the harsh, snappy reply cut him off. Almost instantly, the glee was wiped clean from Bloo's face.

"Y-you want me to g-go away?" the imaginary friend murmured, completely thunderstruck. "Why?" he implored dejectedly, looking for all the world like a sad puppy.

At this pitiful inquiry, Mac looked up from where he had buried his face into his pillow to try and unsuccessfully muffle his weeping. "Oh, it's just _you_." he sniffled.

"Well yeah, of course it's just me! What did you think-_WHOA_!" Bloo cried in shock upon finally seeing his creator's puffy red eyes and tearstained cheeks, making no secret of his surprise. "What the heck happened to _you_?" he demanded in his usual overly blunt manner.

Staring at him stupidly through bleary eyeballs, Mac just began to sniffle uncontrollably again as fresh tears began to trickle down his cheeks in tiny rivulets, doing it all in the most pitiful of fashions.

"Oh man…Mac…" Bloo mumbled incredulously, instinctively plodding across the room to his best friend's side. "Buddy, what happ-"

Before the blob-shaped imaginary friend had the chance to finish, the second he scrambled up onto the bed Mac abruptly cut him off by throwing his arms around his best friend, entrapping him in a fierce hug. As the tears began to flow even faster down his cheeks, the hysterical child buried his face deep into Bloo's side.

"Bloo…I-I saw…b-b-but they d-didn't…even though I-I-I…they think I'm…n-not even F-Frankie will…" Mac tried to moan between sobs, but it was of little use. The eight-year-old had been completely overcome by a bitter mixture of misery and frustration, shattering his composure and incapacitating his speech beyond a few incomprehensible sentence fragments.

As Mac bawled uncontrollably, Bloo instinctively returned the hug and held his best friend close, a reassuring gesture that awarded him an even tighter squeeze from his horribly shaken creator.

"It's okay buddy, it's okay." He said simply, patting the child's back. "It's gonna be alright, you'll see."

Mac lifted his head momentarily to stare at Bloo through tear-flooded eyeballs.

"Bloo….today, I…"

However, like all his other attempts to communicate, this one ended in complete failure. A ragged sob halted the boy's feeble effort, and once again he broke down completely, utterly and fully overtaken by grief. Nodding his head in sympathy, Bloo continued to pat his friend's back reassuringly as Mac once again buried his head into his side.

"It's okay, buddy. It's okay. It'll be alright." He whispered, choosing to keep his words simple and let his actions speak for themselves.

It didn't really matter to Bloo that he still had no honest idea what had happened, or exactly why his creator had become so inconsolably hysterical. What he did know, however, was quite simply that Mac needed his best friend by his side more than anything else in the world at this very moment.

And if this was good enough for Mac, then as far as Bloo was concerned, this was good enough for him.

* * *

"Mac?" 

Frankie whispered as she gently rapped on the bedroom door. "Pal? You okay?"

No response came. The nightgown-clad young woman gently rattled the doorknob a few times, all the while continuing her inquiry.

"Mac? You still awake?"

Again, still no reply. Seeing that the door wasn't locked, Frankie immediately opened it a crack so as to peek her head into the room.

Instantly her vision was greeted by pitch-black darkness. As her sight readjusted itself to the lack of light, the girl remained alert and listened intently. Her intrusion was neither greeted by any squeals of surprise or angered shrieks calling her to leave, nor so much as a sleepy grumble murmuring for her to shut the door. All that her ears could pick up was the rhythm of duel snoring, broken every few seconds or so by the occasional whine or whimper. The second her eyes became properly adjusted, Frankie gently shut the door behind her and tiptoed towards the outline of what she assumed to be the bed, making sure to keep noise to a bare minimum.

At the moment, she couldn't really care less that Mr. Herriman, her own Grandmother, and a variety of others (including her own common sense) had explicitly advised her to give Mac some time alone. Maybe it was because she became so inconsolably worried when he didn't show up for dinner, or possibly because of her unusually strong nurturing instinct. Maybe it was because she simply couldn't bear to think of her little brother in such a wretched state without proper comfort from his big sister. Then agan, it could all just be a feeble attempt to try and soothe the bitter guilt from earlier that knawed at her mercilessly from within. Whatever it was, Frankie simply couldn't help herself, she just _had _to see how her charge was doing.

Once she made it safely to the side of the bed, the girl quickly scanned the scene before her. Almost immediately her suspicions were confirmed upon why Bloo hadn't shown up for supper either; the little blob had faithfully chosen to pass up a meal to dutifully comfort his creator and best friend. Upon spotting the dozing little imaginary friend, Frankie actually had to bite her lip to suppress a chortle. She was sure the scene would've been a lot cuter had Bloo actually been at Mac's side, rather than sprawled halfway down the bed with his little arms lying askew and a thin trail of drool oozing from his open mouth.

However, Frankie's mirth was short-lived the instant she fixed her gaze upon Mac. Guessing by the fact he had changed into his pajamas, it was quite obvious he had chosen to put himself to bed early rather than face the rest of the day among those who considered him to be a "liar." Unfortunately, even when fast asleep, the eight-year-old was unable to escape his fears and woes. Clinging tightly to his pillow, the child wriggled about incessantly in the grips of an uneasy slumber. Every once in a while, Mac would emit a frightened squeak or a fearful whine, trapped inside some horrid nightmare that disrupted his rest. What exactly his tortured dreams were about, it was all too obvious for Frankie to guess.

Upon seeing Mac's appalling state, Frankie instinctively swung into action. With a few deft but delicate movements, she carefully swept both child and imaginary friend off the bed and into her arms, taking extra caution so as not to wake them. As the pair remained trapped in the depths of a deep sleep, Frankie carefully sat herself onto the mattress and swung her lanky legs onto the bed. With a few more quick movements, the girl managed to deposit the slumbering Bloo delicately onto her stomach, while settling Mac carefully into the warm protection her embrace could provide. It was all the work of a matter of seconds, done with all the skill that only experience could provide.

As she positioned Mac carefully in her arms, Frankie allowed herself a small chuckle. The little guy would probably freak if he knew that not only was see doing this while he slept, but oddly enough, this was _not_ the first time she had done it. It was not at all the work of quick thinking, the girl had been doing this since probably only a few weeks ever since the eight-year-old had come to live at Foster' under her official guardianship. She had picked up rather quickly (with a little inside help from Bloo) that it proved to be especially difficult to awaken Mac from nightmares of any sort. Usually they proved to be so intense that no amount of shaking or gentle whispering was enough to snap him out of it. Fortunately, however, the crafty young woman had found a way to worm around that particular problem. Just as he would always relax or when seated on her lap or doze off when lying against her stomach during the day, Frankie found that her very presence was just as effective in calming him while he was asleep as much as it did when he was awake.

Ever since then, Frankie had been performing this odd little ritual every time she awoke in the middle of the night due to any whine, whimper, or any sound reminiscent of distress that emitted from across the hallway. She had done it dozens of time, and as far as she knew, to this day Mac was completely unaware that she had even sneaked into his room like this even once. Due to her heavy workload around the house, her internal clock always made sure she was gone long before Mac awoke. Frankie had to admit a few people would definitely give her some very odd looks if she ever confessed and made known her odd ritual. But in all honestly, the girl really couldn't care less. Along as her presence managed to calm Mac down, she was going to keep doing this until she was caught.

However, tonight so far had proved to be a rare exception to the usual routine. Usually when she did this, Mac would always settle down the instant she had him in her arms, and his nightmares would flee in retreat, leaving them both alone to a good night's sleep. At the moment though, the eight-year-old was quite far from relaxed. In reality, it seemed Frankie's usually comforting presence had done almost nothing to alleviate his woes, much less release him from whatever nightmares that still held him in their devilish grip. Instead of settling down into a peaceful rest, Mac only managed to wrap his arms around her neck and hug Frankie tightly as if she was an oversized, humanoid stuffed animal that could provide only limited protection and reassurance from the terrors that insisted on plaguing him in his sleep. The boy still continued to emit an array of frightened whimpers and pitiful squeaks, along with the occasional pathetic murmur thrown in every now and then, and all the while he even quivered slightly as tried to burrow into what refuge his older sister's company could offer.

As she cradled the little boy gently in her arms, the redhead's mind became a chaotic whirl of thoughts. Mac had seemed absolutely convinced that he had had a run-in with his own older brother, the same teenager who was responsible for so much pain and torture over the years. The nightmares and tortured sleep he was enduring now proved that to the very fullest. But, how could that actually be true?

To be honest, the whole idea didn't make any sense in Frankie's mind. True, when the police had thoroughly scanned the wreckage of the tragic accident that had definitely claimed the life of Mac's mother, they had failedto locate any remains that could possibly be classified as those of the slain woman's eldest son. Unfortunately, when she had first learned that interesting detail some time ago, Frankie really gave it very little thought, as that was when she was thick in the epic struggle to obtain custody of Mac. Back then her main focus had been to make sure the only definite surviving son of the tragically killed mother was placed in a safe and loving home, meaning of course with his "big sister" at Foster's, as she had unofficially made herself a few weeks before the calamitous car accident. She paid scant attention to that odd fact about Terrence then, and had flat-out forgotten about later it in her joy of receiving legal custody and the tribulations she had to endure while getting used to taking full-time care of an eight-year-old kid.

But, here she was, sneaking into Mac's room at night while that "minor detail" that she had paid little attention to a few months agocame out of nowehre to bite her in the butt. If Terrence really did survive that accident, then how? More importantly, where had he been these past few months? If he was alive, then why did he just leave the scene of the accident in the first place? If he was human, then he should've definite stayed around until paramedics and the police arrived, caught in some state of dumb shock after witnessing the death of his own mother. Why on earth did he just leave? And where exactly did he go? Finally, why on earth was he deciding to mysteriously show up _now_?

None of it made any sense. There were far too many questions that Frankie couldn't answer. However, as Mac snuggled closer to her with a whimper, the girl protectively hugged him close as she made sure of one thing. Whatever had exactly happened to the boy today, something terribly unusual was _definitely_ going on.

And she would be dammed if she was going to let _any_ harm befall Mac.

As if he somehow managed to read her mind, as soon as Frankie made her mental resolution Bloo suddenly stirred as he lay upon her stomach, emitting what sounded like an indignant whimper. Chuckling softly, Frankie reached down to give the little imaginary friend an affectionate pat on the head.

"Okay, okay. _We're_ not going to let anything happen to Mac."

* * *

Yikes, that was a bit of a long chapter. Kind of a really, REALLY long chapter.Sorry! From now on, I'm going to try and keep the others down to an average length. (2,500 words or so). 

Lucyrocks73 us doing the next chapter, just to let you all know!

You know what to do! Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's notes: Hiya, everyone! lucyrocks73 here, bringing you the next chapter! I don't want to distract you guys, so here's the chapter (Dude13 will continue to forward the reviews to me)!**

**-Marty :-D**

* * *

Terrence squinted at the street name again, making sure that he had the right street. If he was correct, the street he needed to be on was Wilson Way. It was hard to see, for it was starting to get dark. 

As he realized that he had the correct street, he sighed, wondering why the huge Victorian mansion looming ahead of him on the hill wasn't a dead giveaway.

A glimpse- just a glimpse- of something familiar might lead him to Mac. He had to find his brother, he just had to. He had to find him, and make him pay. Pay for his pain.

The sound of various imaginary friends came from farther up the hill. Although all different in so many ways, they all sounded the same to Terrence- annoying. He saw his own imaginary friend, Red, chasing after a bug in the side yard.

He honestly hoped, for once in his life, that he'd see Bloo- the thickest connection to Mac. As he got to the front gate of the house, he stopped. The door was opening…

It was Frankie, motioning for Red to come inside for dinner. Terrence ran and hid behind a streetlight, knowing that nothing pleasant would happen if she were to see him.

It took all of his might to run away right then… she had taken out an entire gang without a single scratch. He composed himself and tried to hide himself the best he could.

Terrence glanced around. After he was sure that no one could see him, he went through the gates. He sneaked around the house a few times, looking for anything that might help him find Mac. It was only the fourth time around that he noticed the blue blob sitting on a bed near a window on the second floor. And sitting right next to him -sobbing, apparently upset- was…

Mac.

His brother.

Why would his brother be there on a school night at six thirty? He was usually home by then, wherever home might be.

Unless…

_This was home._

He pieced it all together in his mind, a sort of complicated puzzle of memories. Frankie had obviously received custody of Mac after the accident, when their mother died, and when they found out that there was no family left.

He shook his head one more time, before realizing that he had it right: Mac was now living at Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends.

Terrence sat in the grass, which was muddy from the snow that had apparently just melted. Well, it wasn't as if he cared- his clothing stank and was filthy already, with stains of mud, murky water, blood, and grease. It wasn't like a little dirt would make them any worse. His always had to beg him to do his laundry, anyway… He thought no one could see him, considering the fact that it was now dark outside.

He watched Bloo comfort Mac, for whatever reason he was troubled. After a bit, the little boy fell asleep in his imaginary friend's arms. Bloo tapped Mac, and woke him up. Mac sighed, and closed the flimsy blue curtain three-quarters of the way.

Terrence, realizing that he probably wouldn't find anything else to help him that night, crept over to a bush and let his eyelids fall down, shielding him from all the horrors of the world. All the horrors, such as drunk drivers and drugs, which had already taken over his life.

* * *

"Frankie, what the _heck_ are you doing?" Bloo spat, obviously surprised at what he had just woken up to. 

Frankie had been fast asleep, that is until Bloo had painfully awoken her with a poke in the arm.

"Hmm?" she muttered, still semi-conscious.

"With _Mac_! What the heck are _you _doing to-"

Frankie, now fully awake and caught in the act, realized that Bloo was now yelling. Instinctively she tightened her hold on Mac, whispering urgently,

"Shhh! You'll wake him up!"

She seriously doubted it though, considering that Mac was definitely not a light sleeper most of the time, particularly tonight when he was so troubled. As Bloo eyed her suspiciously, she immediately tried to cover herself with a slapdash excuse.

"I, uh, heard Mac having a bad dream from across the hall, and I, um, came over to try and make him feel better. Just this once, you know." Frankie blatantly lied, thankful that the darkness hid her blush.

"Sure, you were…" Bloo muttered.

"Don't hassle me with your sarcasm, Bloo! You know perfectly well that Mac and I are… AUGH! _I'm fourteen years older then him, for crying out loud!_"

"And your point is? And I was being… carsastic? Is that the word?" Bloo inquired, his understanding of the particular concept still far from complete.

"It's _sarcastic_, and you know perfectly well what I meant… Mac and I are just _family_! _That's it_! Now get out of here before I… before I… well, you know," Frankie whispered harshly.

"'_Well, you know'_. I'm _sooo_ scared.But... I _still _don't know what's wrong with him," Bloo answered glumly, admitting defeat and dropping the subject.

"You skipped pizza night, and you don't know what's wrong with the poor little guy?" Frankie shook her head. "He's convinced that he saw his brother walking down the street today…"

Bloo laughed. "Terrence?"

"Did Mac _have_ any other brothers?" she replied, rolling her eyes.

"No, I'm just saying… Terrence is _dead_, isn't he?"

"Mac seems to be convinced otherwise."

"So? He used to think Terrence was after him _all _the time… it was kind of weird, now that you mention it… We would be playing in his room, and he would think that Terrence was home to beat him up when he wasn't… Poor kid…" Bloo said, pondering about the days when he still lived with Mac at the apartment downtown.

"He did?" Frankie replied in surprise, realizing that there was a lot she didn't know about Mac.

"Uh huh," Bloo answered, yawning as he hopped off the bed. "Well, I'm going to see if Coco hasn't used my bed for egg-storage, 'cause I wasn't there."

Frankie laughed. As Bloo quietly shut the door, she realized that it was probably time for her to go back to her own room. She gently set Mac down on his bed, and tucked him in. However, as she started to close the door, she heard Mac cough rather hard. It wasn't the type of cough one had when they had a simple cold, but more of a deep hack. She instinctively ran as silently as she could to his bedside, and watched him breathe for a moment.

Her mind wandered back to earlier, when he ran out of breath while trying to convince her that he really did see Terrence. Did he just overdo it, get overexcited and had to slow down? Or was something wrong with him? Frankie continued to think, and reminisced the events of the past few days. She realized that Mac had a few moments (other than the one earlier that day) where he had been short of breath, and even prone to small fits of violent coughing.

Convincing herself that Mac was fine and that he just needed to calm down a bit, she planted a small affectionate kiss on his forehead, then plodded off to her own bedroom to get a good night's sleep.

* * *

Half-awake, Terrence could barely hear the thickly accented voice yelling in the distance at whom, he didn't know, nor did he care. At least, not until he heard the words, 

"Hey...aren't _you_ supposed to be _dead_?"

Terrence's eyes shot open, as he realized that he had been found out.

* * *

_(Note from Dude13)_ - You guys know the drill! Please read and review! 

Thanks for your support, everyone!


	5. Chapter 5

Well, here you guys go, another chapter comin' at ya! You all know what to do!

Please Read and review!

* * *

"AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!" 

Terrence's scream of terror shattered the calm of the early morning. Without even taking one glance at whoever had spotted him, the teenage clumsily scrambled along on all fours like a fleeing dog before clambering to his feet. The instant he did so, he immediately shot off like a rocket, leaping over bushes and fleeing from the old Victorian mansion as fast as his legs and lung capacity allowed him to travel. Within a matter of moments, the thirteen-year-old had disappeared from sight completely.

Duchess narrowed her eyes as she looked to where she had last seen that oafish boy before he had vanished from view. Well, _that_ was something she obviously didn't see every day during an early morning stroll around Foster's.

But wait a moment…wasn't _that_ the brother of that child, the one who had recently taken up permanent residence at Foster's? The blood relative of the small child under that pesky caretaker's guardianship, and the boy who had created that miserable mischief-making little blob? Yes, wasn't his older brother supposed to be _dead _or something, along with his mother?

Duchess just shrugged it off and continued with her promenade. It was probably best not to think about it, especially this early in the day.

After all, it was none of _her _business.

* * *

"C'mon, c'mon…." 

Terrence whispered impatiently to himself as he huddled deep under the cover of some bushes, ones that unfortunately were proving to be very scratchy and uncomfortable at the moment. However, that was the last thing on his mind as he kept a close eye on the small boy across the street.

The thirteen-year-old checked his old wristwatch and swore angrily under his breath. The last bus had left a little over half-an-hour ago, yet despite being the last kid in the front of the elementary school for that long, Mac _still _refused to make a move. Instead, the little boy insisted on continuing to pace back and forth in front of the entranceway, constantly glancing from side to side to make sure the coast was clear. Every once in a while, Mac would take a few paces down the steps, but every time he attempted to leave for home, an unfamiliar noise would drive the startled child back up into the relative safety of the entrance within an instant.

Terrence let loose a bored sigh as he fidgeted with his trusty switchblade, a treasured possession that he had "borrowed" from one of his schoolmates some time ago, and today, with a little luck, his weapon of choice. However, that was looking to be less and less the case with every passing minute and Mac still not making a run for home. Still, he couldn't be too surprised that this was happening, the boy definitely had to still be a little shaken from their brief "reunion" yesterday afternoon, especially when remembering how fast Mac ran when he realized exactly _who_ he had run into.

Besides, Terrence reminded himself with a grin, it wasn't like _he_ was going anywhere soon. He had all the time in the world, it was Mac who had to go home at _some _point. What else was the kid going to do? There was only one mode of transportation he had to use to go home, and Terrence knew very well that he was still undoubtedly the faster runner between the two. There was no denying the inevitable, the paranoid Mac had to make a dash for it at some point, and when he did…

Terrence's daydreaming was roughly broken by the loud honking emitting from a bus pulling up to the curb in front of the school, which caused Mac to yelp in surprise.

A particularly small bus…

Painted in flamboyant colors…

And written on the side in large, swirling white lettering, "Foster's Home for"…

"Damn!" Terrence cursed as he spotted the flash of red hair in the driver's seat.

* * *

"Frankie?" Mac asked incredulously as he scooted towards the curb. The doors of the Foster's bus swung open to reveal a broadly grinning young woman who gave him a friendly wave. 

"Hey! How ya doin', pal?" Frankie laughed at the child's stunned expression.

"Uh...fine, I guess." The boy murmured as he climbed aboard, still quite surprised. "Wait, but what are-"

"Oh! I was, um, in town, and, I was…running some errands, and uh, stuff like that." The girl quickly blurted out rather clumsily in reply. "Yeah! I was doing some shopping nearby, saw the time, and poof! Here I am."

"Oh, okay." Mac answered softly, scratching his head. "Wait, still though, why did you have to-"

"Wait, what's _this _all about?" Frankie chuckled, flashing him a disarming smile. "Is there some law or something saying I can't give my little brother a ride home?" she teased.

"I guess not…" Mac whispered. The young woman giggled as she suddenly leaned down to wrap him in a warm hug.

"No, not at all." She whispered softly into his ear. Mac grinned weakly in return and dutifully returned her squeeze. However,as soon as she gave him a quick, affectionate nuzzle,the boy quickly broke loose from her hold with a laugh.

"Hey, quit it!" he chuckled.

"Oh, what is it _now_? Is there now some law saying I can't do anything more than hug you?" Frankie rolled her eyes in mock exasperation as she watched him take a seat.

"No, not that, but I think there's one about overdoing it with the mushy stuff." Mac laughed as he settled himself nearby.

"Oh, pfft! Says you!" the girl teased as she turned the ignition. "I'm the older sibling in this relationship, I'm the one who says what goes!"

"Hey, it's entirely because of _you_ that Bloo still thinks that you and me are…you know…like "that"…." Mac tried to protest.

"Well, if I get any more of those gross "boyfriend, girlfriend" comments out of him, then there's going to be some weird lumps in the meatloaf at dinner tomorrow night." Frankie growled in a jokingly sinister tone.

Mac grimaced and stuck out his tongue in disgust.

"Eww, gross!"

"Kidding, just kidding! But hey, _you_ were the one who started it."The girl laughed fiendishly.

"Frankieeee…." Mac whined

"Okay, okay, I'll knock it off, I promise." she giggled. "So, how was school today, pal?"

As Mac seemed to relax in his seat and jabber innocently about the particular happenings of that day, Frankie breathed a small sigh of relief to herself as she stepped on the gas. Fortunately, he seemed to have gotten over his anger from last night, prattling casually like this was any other ride home.Even better though, Mac had not seemed to notice that there was absolutely no sign that she had performed any "errands" of any sort; the bus was completely devoid of any grocery bags or anything of that matter suggesting that the girl had been out doing small tasks for Foster's. In reality, the entire thing had been a mere, slapdash ruse.

Frankie was just thankful that she had followed up on her suspicions from earlier that day to prove herself completely right, that Mac _was _obviously far too terrified to make it home on his own today. If only he knew why she was _really_ there picking him up, she wasn't sure whether he'd die of embarrassment or cry in relief. Mac didn't seem to care one bit about the total lack of evidence supporting Frankie's tale however, and he seemed to have relaxed quite a bit since when she had first pulled up, and that was all that really mattered.

As she eased the bus out into the street, however,she kept her eyes peeled for any suspicious figures, while checking for traffic of course. Upon seeing no shady types lurking about, the girl shrugged her shoulders as she put on the acceleration and headed off in the direction of home. So far, she had foundno sign of any mysterious grungy teens stalking about on the way to Foster's., _especially_ one's who could've been mistaken for...

_Hey, you could never be too careful, Frankie_, she dutifully reminded herself as she glanced up into the rear view mirror back at Mac, who was right in the middle of some story she hadn't been listening to. As soon as he looked up to return her gaze, she shot him a warm smile and a friendly nod, urging him to continue.

_Yeah, definitely. Better safe than sorry._

* * *

As soon as the Foster's bus motored out of sight, Terrence clambered out from behind the bushes, cursing uncontrollably in his frustration. 

"Dammit! That lousy, no-good, low-down, spyin' little…" he muttered darkly under his breath as he stared down angrily in the direction he saw the bus appear from and drive off in. No, not again, this just _couldn't_ be happening all over.

The grungy teenager stomped his feet furiously in aggravation. Why? Why him? No, wait, why _her_? Why did that nosey girl always have to make everything her business? It, just wasn't fair, she was ruining all his plans! It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair at all. Mac was the one who trashed the drugs, started the whole messy affair in repaying the damage, thus _he_ was the reason why his Mom had to pick him up _that_ night. Yet in the end, the runt was getting off scot-free because _she _was seemingly never more than a few yards away from the little punk at all times.

Terrence bit down on his lip so hard he drew blood, so enraged was he at that moment. Great, this was just great. How on earth was he going to pull _this_ all off? It was obvious that nothing could be accomplished with Frankie in the way. He knew all too well that she was more than capable of handling trouble when it came around, _especially_ when that trouble just happened to be directed upon Mac. If he so much as stepped into the doorway of Foster's, she would tear him limb from limb if given a moment's chance. He just had to do _something, _but what? His task seemed to be the equivalent of assassinating some world leader who possessed a bodyguard of a hundred men. It would be utterly useless to try and go at this alone, he needed help, and he needed it _fast_. But who? Who could possibly help him out with this in any way possible, and for that matter, would actually _want _to provide some sort of assistance after he told them-

Wait.

A fiendishly sly grin began to creep its way across the boy's face as the obvious answer appeared in his mind. Of course, of course!Why didn't he think of it sooner? She had tried it with him before...what was stopping them from teaming up again?

He just hoped that she wouldn't mind getting her finely-groomed nails a little dirty.

* * *

Duchess narrowed her oddly shaped eyes and scowled in the direction of the large Victorian mansion, glaring in particular at the ruckus and movement emitting from the dining room. To her ears, it sounded like a chorus of pigs, savagely devouring a mess of garbage and table scraps. With a light huff and a turn of her head, she continued waltzing along in a stroll among Foster's extensive property. 

She was quite thankful however that she didn't have to eat with _them_, those uncivilized, uncultured excuse for imaginaries. Even though it had taken quite a bit of prodding, some outright begging, and a bit of a tantrum, the rabbit and the old lady at least allowed her to eat her meals in the private comfort of her own room, away from the rest of the rabble. Although personally Duchess wasn't quite sure whether the slop she was served three times a day counted as real food or not, to her that pesky girl's cooking qualities were hardly above downright atrocious, at best. Honestly, macaroni and cheese? That was the diet of only low-brow friends, not exceptional specimens of imagination such as herself, of course.

Duchess shuddered slightly as she removed her glare from the house and continued along her stroll around the Foster's grounds. Ugh, she could still feel that slimy mess of cheese and noodles slipping down her throat. But even worse, who knew exactly how many calories there were in that slosh she was forced to digest only a half-hour before? As another shudder raced through her body, Duchess quickly picked up the pace as she waltzed about the back lawn. She better make this an extra-long walk tonight, to burn off that fat and hopefully prevent the catastrophic damage it could inflict on her perfect frame. She just hoped fervently that the rest of the riff-raff didn't finish with their meal for a while, the last thing she needed was to have her nice stroll alone to be rudely interrupted by a bunch of no-good-

"Psst! Hey!"

Duchess almost leapt a full foot in the air at the sound of the mysterious whisper. Immediately she whirled about in a jangling of jewelry, her finely groomed nails bared like a wildcat and her irregularly shaped eyes darting about suspiciously.

"What? What is it? Who's there?" she hissed in her thick accent.

"Easy, easy!" Terrence yelped apologetically as he warily stepped out from behind some nearby bushes. "Cool it, will ya?"

Duchess took but one glance and immediately relinquished her fighter's stance.

"Oh, it's just _you_." She sighed wearily, as if the bizarre situation was of no major concern to her.

"Uhhhhh, right." Terrence answered rather stupidly in agreement, taken off by her total lack of surprise.

"Well, I hope you're happy!" Duchess snarled irritably, placing her hands at her hips in the manner of a reprimanding parent.

"Wait, what?" the teenager cried in confusion.

"You! This is all _your_ fault!" the imaginary friend growled accusingly, angrily jabbing a wickedly long claw in the boy's direction.

"_What_?" Terrence yelled furiously in reply. "What did I do?"

"Oh, what _didn't_ you do?" Duchess answered huffily. "Thanks to you, my existence at this miserable pig sty of a home has gone from utterly despicable to _worse_!" she screamed, hands and feet akimbo.

"Hey, listen here! I don't know _what _the hell you're talkin' about, but-"

"Oh, don't play stupid with me, you contemptible runt!" Duchess hissed. "That boy, the one that you call your brother? Well, thanks to _you_, he now lives _here_!"

"Yeah, but what does _that _have to-"

"_Everything_!" Duchess shrieked in bitter frustration, her normally yellow-toned skin turning a vibrant shade of scarlet in her rage. "Now that the little one is actually _living _here, that means that disgusting little blue blob can never, _ever_ be adopted!"

"Blue blob? You mean Bloo, right?" Terrence asked dumbly.

"Who else? The one who is always bouncing about the hallways, pulling nasty tricks on me, disturbing my beauty sleep with his incessant racket….ARRRGH!" she howled in frustration. "And of course, he is the one who ruined my _only_ chance of _ever _leaving this dump for a somewhat decent home! Now, because he is always here, I will always be here, and the only reason for that mess is because your stupid excuse for a blood relation now lives here!"

"Hey, but-" Terrence tried to protest, but he was quickly cut off.

"Enough of this!" Duchess growled. "I don't care _what_ it is you have to say! The last time Imade the mistake of doingsomething with _you_ isthe whole reason I'm still living in this awful, awful, awful excuse off a hovel! So forget it, just forget it! I've had enough of your brainless scheming! Good day to you, you, you worthless _idiot_ you!" she yelled in a very-thickly accented bark.

With that she whirled about and began to stroll off back to Foster's in a huff.

"…if Mac's the cause of the problem now, what if I told you I can get _him _out of the picture?" Terrence asked.

Almost instantly Duchess went to a dead halt as soon as those fateful words hit her ears. After standing motionless in place for a few moments, she slowly turned her head to shoot a wary glance in the direction of the grungy teenager.

"What did you say?" she inquired suspiciously.

"You heard me." Terrence replied with a hint of a foul smile. "It seems that we both want the same thing. I do have a plan, _but,_ for it to work...I'm gonna need _your_ help."

Duchess remained where she stood for about a minute, brow furrowing as she silently scrutinized the proposition in her mind. Finally, she took one cautious step as she began to edge her way back towards the boy.

"I'm listening…"

* * *

That's it for now! More comin' from lucyrocks73 next week! 

Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

Frankie sighed as she pulled into Foster's. Mac, as talkative as he was before, was eerily silent.

"Why are you so quiet all of a sudden, pal?" she said as she unbuckled her seat belt.

"Nothing…"

As he climbed out of the bus, Mac didn't notice Frankie watching him closely. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I told you… I'm fine!"

Frankie still wasn't convinced, but she let the subject drop for now.

* * *

The redhead pulled the magnet off of a piece of paper on the refrigerator. Reading the number, she walked to the nearest phone. 

The way she saw it, the reason for Mac's stony silence was due to one of two issues. First, he still could be upset over the whole "Terrence" incident that they had to deal with. Then again, he had been coughing a lot lately, and not in the way that suggested a cold. Was he just not feeling well?

Deciding to check about the latter first, Frankie had set out to get in touch with Mac's doctor. Dialing the number, she waited patiently for someone to pick up.

"Hello? Doctors Brown, Sullivan, and-"

"Yeah, yeah…" Frankie said, interrupting the voice. "I'm calling about my little brother. I wanted to see if I could get him an appointment."

"Well, maybe you should get your parents to call…" the voice said uneasily.

"I'm his legal guardian."

"Oh, sorry. Name and age?"

"Mac Foster, and he's eight."

"What seems to be the problem?" the receptionist inquired in a monotone, not sounding like she cared at all.

"Well," Frankie answered, "he's been short of breath lately, and coughing a lot. I want to get him checked out to see what's wrong."

"Okay." Frankie vaguely heard the sound of flipping papers from the other side of the line. "Friday at four?"

"Sure… Do you have any idea of what might be wrong?"

"I'm not a doctor, kid… Don't ask me!"

"Okay then… goodbye." After hanging up, Frankie muttered, "Thanks for the help."

Okay, potential problem number one was on its way to being nonexistent. Now to figure out how number two would disappear. But before she could do anything else…

"Miss Frances! Come here this instant!" the all-too-familiar voice rang through the house.

She sighed. "Coming, Mr. H."

* * *

Terrence nibbled on a candy bar he stole from a convenience store as he walked. Recognizing the territory he had just walked into, he shuddered. This was the turf of Ben's gang- the group he had once led. Now, if he avoided back alleys and no one knew who he was, he might come out all right. 

He groaned as he came to a stop. Yellow caution tape surrounded a humongous pothole in the middle of the road, blocking his only exit. The only way out was through an alley behind an abandoned grocery store- the headquarters and hangout for Ben and his boys. Terrence sighed and walked straight through, hoping that no one would notice him. Unfortunately, a small group of boys- including Ben himself- was standing, doing something to an abandoned grocery cart. Terrence looked in the other direction as he walked right pass them.

_I'm just walking through… That's right, nothing to see here… that's right, go back to your cart… You don't know me… I never was your ringleader… You've never seen-_

Terrence's thoughts were interrupted by a holler of, "Wait a sec, that can't be-"

"No, he's dead! Terrence is dead!"

"Yeah! Ben, didn't he die in a crash coming back from your house?"

Terrence stopped walking. It would make no sense to run, considering that it was one against at least seven.

"Well, well. Look who's back from the dead," Ben said, sinister as ever.

Another boy, whose name Terrence forgot, whispered, "How'd you make it? The police couldn't find your body, so they-"

"The police questioned everybody. They also found a stash of pot in Lance's bedroom. And that led them to question everybody _a second time_," Ben interrupted. "Three of our boys are now in juvenile hall, thanks to you, buddy. And then they decided that because you obviously weren't around, you had to be dead."

Other boys nodded, and they started to come closer to Terrence, who cringed.

"Scared to see your old friends, Terrence?" Ben spat. "Well, before we do you in, we'd just like to know- how the hell did you make it? They said they found your mama in pieces."

Terrence nodded. "I… I…" It came to him, all of a sudden. Why not include them in the plan? After all, the only reason he was out to get Mac out of the picture was because he wanted respect from these guys. Why not lie about how he had survived, and get them to help him?

"Terry," Ben said, with the boys snickering behind him, "we're waiting."

"I didn't wear my seat belt, and I was thrown from the car. After I saw my mother in pieces, I thought that they would probably think I was dead, too," Terrence lied. "So I left. Who would arrest a dead person for smoking pot? Who would arrest a dead person for stealing a candy bar?"

To make his point, he reached into his pocket, grabbed the wrapper, and threw it at Ben.

"So why'd you come back?" Ben replied, his expression unreadable.

"To get rid of the problem- Mac, my brat of a little bro, the one that started this mess? Like I said, no one can arrest a dead person," Terrence finished. He was apprehensive.

Ben looked at his boys. "Well, Terrence," he said, "I have just two words for you."

Terrence wondered what they could be. Dead meat? Asshole delinquent? Corpse thief? Traitor-

"Welcome back."

He leaned over and shook Terrence's hand. Noticing the dumbstruck look on his face, Ben added, "You know, that's a good theory- no one can arrest a dead man. I wanna know- how can we help?"

Terrence looked around. "I'll tell you how…"

* * *

"…So, Grandma," Frankie asked, "What should I do?" 

"Frankie," Madame Foster replied, "I told you before- just leave him alone, he'll figure it out on his own."

Frankie anxiously toyed with the zipper on her sweater as she sipped tea with her grandmother. Now, more then ever, she needed advice. After cleaning dinner (who knew that chicken noodle soup could be so hard to scrub off of bowls?), she marched straight upstairs to talk to her grandmother, who she hoped could give her some tips.

"Grandma, I _did_. Mac hasn't gotten any better."

The elderly woman shook her head, sighing heavily. "He's not going to, I'm afraid… not until he convinces you that he's seen his brother."

"But one of the top ten signs of mental depression due to death of a family member is… Well, Bloo said that Mac sometimes thought that Terrence was there when he wasn't…"

As Frankie began to babble on like some redhead child psychiatrist, Madame Foster raised an eyebrow at her granddaughter's odd behavior.

"FUNNY BUNNY! COME HERE, PLEASE!" the old woman called, abruptly cutting off her granddaughter before she could spout anymore gibberish.

As the poised rabbit hopped into the room, Madame Foster sighed heavily. "Did you try and give Frankie _child psychology_ advice?" she inquired, glaring at him warily.

"Well, my dear, I was only trying to help Miss Frances so she could understand Master Mac-"

As soon as he noticed the exasperated glare his creator was giving him, Mr. Herriman took a breath, muttered a hasty apology, and then quickly hopped away.

Madame Foster gave her granddaughter a sly look. "When did this happen?"

Frankie smiled sheepishly as she answered, "After I got off the phone with the doctor this afternoon. He called me into the library and gave me a few books, and I figured it was worth a shot."

"You called a doctor? Why?"

"I only talked to the receptionist, but… well, have you noticed how short of breath Mac's been getting lately?"

"Now that you mention it, dear, yes…" the elderly woman replied, biting her lip.

"Well, last night I heard him coughing… it didn't sound like he had a cold, and I got scared and… and a little worried. Did I do the right thing?"

Madame Foster thought for a moment. "I think you did. I don't think this is related to the problem with his brother… We'll have to see what happens at-"

She was interrupted by a scream of terror. "What… Who… Is…" Frankie stuttered. She groaned as she realized who it was.

"BLOO!"

"Frankie, Frankie!"

The second voice was easily identifiable as Mac, whose voice sounded panicked and excited at the same time. It came from the same direction as Bloo's had, so she knew that they must've been together. Upon hearing Mac's voice, she set down her tea and ran to the hallway where Mac and Bloo were.

"What is it, pal?" she asked. Mac just looked at her,

"Mac… wasn't… lying…" Bloo panted. It was easy to see that he had run the entire way. "He… did see Terrence."

Frankie sighed. "Bloo…"

Mac didn't take his gaze off of Frankie. It scared her sometimes- he became so focused on people's eyes when he talked to them… like her grandmother. "Listen to him."

"I saw him," Bloo continued, his exhaustion worn off, "I went to that convenience store downtown to get a comic book…You know, they have the best ones- oldies like Super Man, and Spiderman, and-"

Mac finally stopped staring and glared at Bloo. "Stay on topic!" Then, his eyes went back to Frankie's.

"Well, they have the best ones, so I went to get one. And then the manager started yelling at this kid who was outside- something about stealing a candy bar. I looked out and I saw that the kid was Terrence."

"Now Bloo…" Frankie tried to intervene again, but Mac's eyes told her to shut up.

"Seriously Frankie," Mac said, "how many kids are there around with a red plaid shirt and a black mullet, I mean c'mon. You believe us Frankie, don't you?"

Frankie winced. She wanted so much to lie, so much to say she believed them… But she couldn't. Not with Mac staring at her like that. "Pal…"

"Don't you?"

"Mac, I-"

"I KNEW IT! You don't…" he paused for a breath, "believe us!"

Frankie frowned- he had gotten short of breath again. "Mac, are you feeling okay?"

"_I'm fine_! At least I was…" Mac took a deep breath. "Look, let's just forget this happened for now… Mr. H. passed by and said that all of the toilets need to be cleaned out tonight."

Bloo's jaw dropped. "But Mac, you said-"

"I know what I said, Bloo!" he snapped. "Just forget it, okay?"

"Fine… I'll just… umm…" Bloo replied, sort of shocked.

Mac blinked, and then leaned over and gave Bloo a hug. "I'm sorry… we'll talk about it later, okay?"

Bloo gave a weak smile. "Sure, buddy."

He turned and left, leaving Frankie and Mac alone. Frankie shrugged and said, "Who's up for cleaning toilets?"


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry to bring this up, but I kust wanted to let you all know:

- I do tolerate criticism of any sort, but what I _won't _tolerate is people flaming other reviewers. I won't have it here, and that's all I'm gonna say about it. Don't do it everyone, please.

Anyway, just another quick thing! I know that so for what lucy and I have here looks like nothing more than a "Terrence isthe villain" fic, but trust me, that's not what we have in mind for this story. We have some "twists" in mind, which of course will be popping up very soon.

But until then, I will warn you, it will look a lot like Terrence is pure evil, but we're not going to have it end up that way, even though it may seem like it (especially in this chapter).

Okay, that's it with everything I wanted to talk about! You all know what to do!

Please read and review!

* * *

"FRAAAAAAAAANKIEEEEEEEEE!" Duchess bellowed for the fourth time, causing the third floor hallway to reverberate with her heavily accented shrieks. As soon as she finished, she folded her arms in a huff, tapping a high-heel impatiently against the hardwood floor.

"Lousy girl, where on earth is she?" she muttered darkly under her breath. "I swear, if I strain my throat calling for that lazy wench once again…Frankie? FRANKIE? FRA-"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" A shrill feminine voice furiously yelled from the end of the hallway, effectively cutting off Duchess in mid-scream. With the squeak of sneakers, Frankie plodded into the prissy imaginary friend's room, shooting off a nasty glare as she entered.

"What is it _now_?" the girl sighed as she leaned heavily against the doorframe.

Duchess couldn't help but allow herself a smug grin as soon as she spotted the brown-haired child follow in on the heels of the redheaded young woman. Both waited in annoyed silence, neither one suspecting a thing.

_Excellent. _Duchess thought to herself. _Just as I planned. So far, so good. _

"This better be good." Mac murmured irritably as he dutifully took his place by his big sister's side.

"Yeah." Frankie nodded in agreement. "We still have like, ten toilets to clean on this floor, so we really can't be bothered by any of your little "problems", so-"

_Show time. _Duchess thought as she curved her mouth into a hideous frown.

"_Excuse_ me?" She snarled in artificial fury "Little? LITTLE? _LITTLE?" _

Quivering with faked rage, she jabbed a finger angrily towards one corner of her room. "Does _that _look like a "little" problem to you?" she barked furiously.

Frankie and Mac gave her a pair of blank stares.

"Uh…it's just your waste bin…" Mac stated bluntly.

Duchess made it look like she was about to burst a vein. "_And_?" she growled.

"Um…it's…full?" the boy asked warily.

"Thank you, Mister Obvious!" Duchess sneered sarcastically, never missing to lash out at those she despised, which meant of course anyone but her. "Oh goody, the boy can see! At least we know the runt is good for something around here!"

"Hey, cool it, will ya?" Frankie growled, instinctively stepping in front of Mac. Upon seeing the redhead take a defensive position near the boy, Duchess felt like she had to suppress a gag; the girl's dumb devotion to the child never ceased to sicken her to no end. She would certainly be glad later, as would her stomach, when she would see a whole lot less of _that _in her life.

"What, me?" the egocentric creature sputtered incredulously, keeping up her cruel act. "I can't be held responsible if that whelp of yours isn't good for much else besides-"

"_What is it that you want, Duchess_?" Frankie growled through tightly clenched teeth, clearly losing her patience at an alarming rate.

"Remove the filth from my quarters, right this instant!" Duchess ordered, jabbing impatiently at her personal garbage can.

"Fine, fine!" Frankie grumbled, sighing heavily. However, she barely took one step forward when Duchess took one step to the side, effectively blocking the caretaker's path.

"And where do you think _you're _going?" she inquired, giving the young woman a harsh prod to the stomach.

"Hey, you just said-" Frankie tried to unsuccessfully protest.

"If _you_ think we're through here-" Duchess began.

"But didn't you-"

"Garbage! NOW!" the snob of an imaginary friend bellowed.

"Hey, how the heck am I gonna-"

"Use that pea-sized brain of yours and actually _think_ for once." Duchess sneered.

If looks could kill, Frankie would've slain her on the spot. Alas, her nasty glare was unable to accomplish such an act, and Frankie threw up her arms with an exasperated groan.

"Maaaac…" she sighed, shooting the boy an apologetic glance.

"I'm on it, don't worry!" The boy piped up as he scooted from her side over to the small trashcan.

"I'll be back up as soon as I empty this outside, I promise." He said determinedly, hefting it in his little arms and scuttling towards the door. Frankie smiled, giving him an affectionate pat as he passed her.

"I think maybe you might want to take your time for this." She cracked. Chuckling lightly at her joke, Mac flashed her a quick grin before he headed off in the direction of the nearest staircase.

However, as soon as Frankie watched him patter off, the moment she turned her head she was instantly greeted by a bundle of bed sheets being roughly shoved into her face.

"You call _these _fine silk?" Duchess jabbered furiously.

* * *

With a grunt, Mac lifted the practically overflowing waste bin over his head and into one of the large garbage cans out in back of the house. As soon as the last of the refuse was properly ended, the boy immediately turned around to head back inside, for there was little doubt in his mind that Frankie was probably going through torture being left alone with nothing but Duchess's incessant griping- 

"_Help_!"

The high-pitched squeak suddenly rang out clearly in the night. Mac paused as he glanced about wildly. Did he just hear what he thought he-?

"_Please, help me_!" the cry rang out loudly and clearly. Mac gasped in horror as he let the garbage pail slip from his fingers. Oh God, it just couldn't be. Could it? It sounded a little hoarse, but besides that, the distressed cries almost exactly like the voice of-

"_Mac! Anyone! Please, help me_!" the frightened sobs echoed in the night. Immediately the boy shot off in the direction of the all-too-familiar cries, legs and arms pumping furiously as he dashed to the rescue.

"Hold on Bloo! I'm coming!" he yelled as he bolted off.

"_Mac, please hurry_!" came the pitiful reply.

The child's heart thumped wildly in his chest. What on earth was Bloo doing outside this time of night? More importantly however, exactly _what _had happened to him?

"_MAAAAAAC_!" Came the hoarse scream.

"BLOO!" Mac yelled in reply as he struggled to put on an extra burst of speed, bolting as fast as he could to the edge of the Foster's property, where his best friend's cries of help were emitting. Lungs on fire, gasping desperately for breath, the child surged onwards with every bit of energy he had.

"_Mac! Mac! Mac!"_

"Don't worry, Bloo! I'm coming! Just hold-_WHOA_!"

The boy cried out in shock as someone suddenly tripped him, sending the child sprawling hard upon the ground. The second he made contact with the dirt, immediately two dim figures darted out from behind nearby trees, turning the boy over and roughly pinning him to the ground.

"Hey! Hey! Stoppit! What are you doing! Leggo! Leggo!" Mac yelped as he struggled furtively in vain against the firm hold of the two grungy-looking teens who held him firmly in place.

"I said let me go! Help! Help! Where's Bloo? What'd you do with-_MMPF_!"

One of the teenaged boys suddenly shoved a filthy rag into his mouth, effectively muffling his yelling. Eyes bulging in terror, the child continued to thrash about wildly in a feeble attempt to escape his mysterious assailants.

"Don't even try it, little bro. Won't do ya much good."

Mac immediately went petrified with fright the moment he heard the familiar raspy voice. As the all-too-recognizable figure stepped out from behind a clump of bushes, the boy felt like he was about to die of fright as suddenly all of his worst nightmares seemed to be coming true before his very eyes.

"Hiya, bud." Terrence greeted him with a harsh chuckle. "Long time, no see."

The rag making any attempt to communicate utterly useless, the child just let out a terrified muffled whimper as he lay held in place, frozen in horror.

"Aww, what's the matter?" Terrence inquired mockingly as he took a step forward. "Somethin' wrong? Wonderin' what happened to your little blob? Why, wherever could he be?"

The mulleted teen turned to a particularly scraggly looking boy who was stepping out from behind some shrubs. "Hey, Squeak! You know what happened to my kid bro's little friend?"

"Squeak" let loose with a fiendish laugh as he replied. "Why of course, Terr! It's no prob at all, the little guy is still _right here_!"

As Mac heard the boy speak that last few words in an almost flawless imitation of the child's beloved imaginary friend, he could've sworn he felt his heart sink into his chest in utter despair.

"Now then," his older brother chuckled, flashing the mortified boy a toothy grin as he cracked his knuckles. "I believe it's time we took care of some "business", little bro…"

Mac emitted one last muffled whimper as Terrence wound up.

And then came the pain.

* * *

Frankie groaned as Duchess continued to ceaselessly gripe like a spoiled toddler, with absolutely no end to her rant in sight. 

"…Just look at these, look at them! High quality silk?" she scoffed haughtily. "More like some cheap imitation material if you ask me! These are not fit for a cockroach to bed in! Every night I'm kept up for hours in these thin, scratchy excuses for sheets! How dare you try and pass off to me such miserable excuse for bed covering? Thanks to you, I haven't had a decent night's worth of beauty sleep in a week! I…"

"More like you haven't had that your whole life, if you ask me." Frankie muttered darkly to herself.

"What was _that_?" Came the snarled reply.

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Frankie sighed, throwing up her arms. "Bad bed sheets, I get the point already! Geez! Look, if it's really bothering you so much, I'll-"

"And don't even try and _think _that we're done _here_!" Duchess growled, pointing accusingly at her. Before Frankie could say a word, the imaginary friend rushed over to a large pile on her bed, and without a word of warning, began to shower the unsuspecting caretaker with a diverse variety of clothing.

"Towels! Bath robes! Pillowcases! Casual wear! Fancy wear! None of them good enough to dress a peasant in, absolutely of none of them! They're like old burlap to my sensitive skin!"

"Whoa! Hey! Ackpth!" Frankie squealed as she was buried in a hail of offending garments, towels, and sheets. "Hold on, just hold a –OOF!"

A particularly large bundle of bed sheets caught her squarely in the chest, sending her sprawling onto the floor, only to be covered with a load of towels and bathware.

As the girl struggled furiously to remove a tangle mess of a bathrobe from her head, Duchess made her move and quickly slunk over to her door, locking it before Foster's caretaker could clear her vision.

"Ewww!" Frankie grimaced, finally removing the offending piece of clothing and irritably tossing it aside. "What kind of perfume do you wear, "Eau de Armpit" or something?" she grumbled sourly.

"Well, maybe if you had enough talent to do a decent wash for once…" Duchess snarled.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Frankie grumbled bitterly as she bent down to pick up the scattered clothing. "No need to here _that_ spiel all over again."

"If you would only…" Duchess began, ready to launch into another furious faked ramble. This was almost _too _easy. If she could just keep this up for at least another fifteen minutes, then according to that mullet teen, she would be completely in the clear.

"Duchess, will you just _look_ at this? You made such a mess! I swear, you're like a big baby sometimes!" Frankie complained irritably as she made a beeline over to pick up a discarded towel…

…That had landed on the windowsill, much to Duchess's horror.

"Wait, no! I, uh-" she tried to intervene, eyes bulging in terror.

"I mean, geez!" the girl went on, oblivious to the sputtered protests. "It's _everywhere_! Okay, now did you really have to go and just toss every piece of clothing…all…around…"

Frankie trailed off as a _very_ peculiar sight outside caught her eye.

"What the…" she mused, spotting the odd cluttering of dim figures through the window. "Who the heck…"

With a nervous gulp, Duchess quickly jogged over to her bed and reached under her mattress, withdrawing a long iron poker she had taken from near the fireplace earlier that day.

She was hoping it wouldn't have to go to plan "B", but…

"Oh no!" Frankie gasped as it all finally dawned on her, oblivious to the assailant rushing up behind her as she recognized the trapped little figure down below. "That's…it looks like…oh God! _Mac_-"

_THWACK!_

Frankie suddenly saw stars as she felt a heavy weight slam into the back of her head. As soon as the end of the iron poker made contact with her skull, the girl immediately tumbled to the floor in a heap.

* * *

Casually strolling through the third-floor hallway, Bloo was suddenly quite startled by the sound of something heavy hitting the floor nearby. 

"Yikes! What the heck…"

His curiosity piqued, the little imaginary friend went to a nearby door, pressed his head against it and listened intently.

* * *

Duchess sighed in relief as she looked over her handiwork. Well, _that_ had certainly been a lot easier than expected. True, it had almost been a close call, but at least she got the job done before the girl could raise an alarm or anything. Now, there was nothing else to do but get her out of here, make up some story to that moldy old rabbit about how the girl hit her head or something, and then- 

"Uggh…." Frankie suddenly gave a disoriented groan as she stirred slightly.

Eyes bulging in shock, Duchess swore venomously under her breath. Curse that lousy girl, The blow had only momentarily stunned her!

As soon as the dazed redhead began to try and lift herself off the floor, the imaginary friend cried out in surprise and immediately lashed out blindly with her weapon.

_THWACK!_

"AAAAA!"

Frankie yelped in pain as Duchess scored a badly aimed hit on her unprotected back. The heavy metal end of the makeshift club dealt a painful blow, badly bruising skin and muscle, while one of its jagged points raked across, easily ripping through sweater and shirt alike and digging into flesh. The aching and disoriented young woman didn't even get so much as a chance to try and crawl away or even curl up into a protective ball before the provisional cudgel was raised and lowered again with punishing force. It slammed painfully into her side, causing Frankie to let loose with a shriek of agony.

* * *

Bloo's eyeballs threatened to bug out of his sockets completely as soon as he heard the all too familiar cry of distress. 

"_Frankie_!"

Immediately he latched his stubby azure appendages onto the doorknob and began to fervently struggle to turn it. As the knob refused to budge, and Frankie's shrieks grew loude and more agonized with every passing moment, the little imaginary friend was quickly driven into a state of hysterical panic.

"Frankie! Frankie!" he yelped, banging fiercely against the heavy oak door. "_Frankieeeeeee_!"

* * *

Gritting her teeth and perspiring profusely in her strained effort, Duchess continued to pelt the screaming girl with a hail of blows, filling the room with a terrible chorus of metal thudding into flesh and tormented cries. Frankie screamed over and over as her world exploded into pain, as there was almost nothing else she could do about her nightmarish situation. Every attempt to roll up was met with a whack to her back, and every time she tried to drag herself to safety was greeted with a firm blow to one of her arms. All she could do was remain where she lay, practically helpless and unable to do little else but shriek over and over, praying desperately that _someone _would hear the commotion and come to her aid. Also, more importantly, so _she _could get to Mac in time, hopefully to save him from whatever terrible fate possibly awaited him. 

Duchess meanwhile struggled furiously to make sure _that _never happened. However, she knew very well that already the situation had already become quite dire for her. Her original plan had failed completely; she had failed to distract Frankie, was forced to resort to violence, and now the girl stubbornly refused to go senseless, no matter how unbearable the rain of blows was and no matter how much damage had been inflicted upon her. Even worse, it felt like she was going to take down the entire house with the incredible volume of her screaming, which no doubt must have attracted attention from a number of residents by now.

As her victim let loose with a particularly loud cry of agony as another hit was scored on her side, Duchess lost it completely. Quivering wildly in her rage, she tightened her hold on her weapon and raised it high, screaming furiously,

"Shut up! Shut up, you insolent whelp!"

_THWACK!_

"AAAAAUUUUUGGGGHHH!"

The blow scored the complete opposite of the intended effect. Before Duchess had struck in her furious might, Frankie had somehow managed to crawl off a few feet with a wild burst of desperate energy in a bold attempt to escape range of her tormentor's weapon. Unfortunately, due to her already pathetic condition, this had not been enough, and although Duchess's powerful blow had missed her skull, it caught the redhead full force on the leg, and immediately the audible snap of breaking bone reverberated throughout the room. As intense agony surged through her body, Frankie let out with her most earsplitting scream of utter pain yet.

Gritting her teeth in extreme agony, Frankie finally fought back, lashing out blindly with her left foot. Fortune was with her, and she struck a lucky hit hard against one of Duchess's knees. The kick caught the imaginary friend completely off guard, and with a cry of shock she tumbled to the floor, dropping her makeshift weapon in the process of her fall.

As soon as she rolled over onto her back, Frankie was on top of her within moments, wrapping her hands around her attacker's scrawny yellow neck, forcing Duchess to gag as the girl clamped her throat in a vice-grip. Teethed gritted into a frightening mixture of unbridled rage and intense pain and her eyes burning with a flame like no other, Frankie throttled Duchess, bellowing furiously.

"You bitch! You backstabbing bitch!" she roared. "What's going on? What's happening to Mac? Tell me, you no-good-"

Gasping for air, Duchess latched onto the hands that choked her and dug in with her nails, scoring deep into Frankie's skin. Her nails were wickedly long and finely manicured, making them the equivalent of a set of knives and as dangerous as the claws of a wildcat. As they gouged deeply into flesh, Frankie yelped and promptly tore her hands away.

Immediately Duchess seized upon her chance and took immediate advantage of the girl's momentarily incapacitation. Quickly she grabbed hold of the battered redhead and forced her to the floor, reversing their positions. As soon as the upper hand was hers, Duchess lashed out furiously with her natural weaponry, one hand going for the head and the other clawing furiously at her victim's exposed midriff. Frankie threw up her arms in an attempt to protect her face, and within a minute Duchess made short work of her makeshift shield, shredding her sweater sleeves to ribbons and crisscrossing the girl's arms with bloody scratch wounds.

As a particularly nasty swipe rake her belly, Frankie finally shrieked in agonized frustration, violently lashing out with a punch. Again, another lucky blow was scored as her fist slammed into Duchess's long, floppy nose with all the force she could muster. As her nostrils began to drip blood, Duchess let loose a scream of fury and went for Frankie's partially unprotected head, clawing a cheek before wrapping a hand around the girl's throat. As needle-sharp nails began to poke through skin, Frankie's hands flew to her neck, struggling to undo the chokehold while Duchess snarled in fury.

"You wench! How dare you mar by beautiful face? Contemptuous scum, you shall pay for that!" she bellowed, splaying her nails and raising one hand high in the air. "We shall see how well you can throw a punch when you can no longer see!"

Thrashing about wildly, Frankie shrieked once more and then…

_WHUMP! _

The bedroom door suddenly burst off its hinges with a deafening thud as if it was plowed by a small freight train. Eduardo let loose with a thundering roar as he reduced the stubborn obstacle to a mess of splinters under his massive muscle power, charging boldly into the room closely followed by Bloo, Mr. Herriman, Wilt, and over a dozen other imaginary friends.

"YAAAAA!" Bloo let out a wild yell and without even thinking, dashed forward and hurled his full body weight into Frankie's attacker, hitting with all the force of a small blue cannonball. Duchess didn't even get a chance to scream in shock before her hated nemesis caught her fully in the stomach, sending her flying off Frankie instantly and sprawling to the floor in a heap.

"Get her! Get her!" the heroic little blob cried as he held on grimly to the thrashing creature, and before she knew it, Foster's most despised resident found herself instantaneously pinned to the floor by at least ten sets of hands, paws, wings, and tentacles. As the small force of imaginaries made short work of incapacitating Duchess, a horrified Mr. Herriman dashed over to the side of a very battered and bloodied caretaker.

"Frankie! Frankie!" he yelled, lapsing in his using formality in his horrified shock and panic at her hideous state. "What on earth happened here?"

Frankie, however, seemed utterly oblivious to his inquiries. Instead, as Wilt instinctively scooped her up into his arm, she began to struggle and thrash about wildly, shrieking at the top of her lungs.

"No, no! Lemme go! Lemme go! I have to get him! He's in danger!" she cried furiously as she struggled wildly in vain against the lanky friend's hold upon her, disregarding her wounds and practically frothing at the mouth as she strove madly to break away.

"Frankie, please! It's all right!" Wilt yelled in an unsuccessful attempt to calm her down, trying frantically to get a firm hold upon her. "It's-"

"Let go! Wilt, let go! Let me _go_, dammit!" Frankie just screamed in enraged insistence.

"Who are you talking about? Who, who is it that's in trouble?" Mr. Herriman inquired frantically, taking the girl's head into his gloved paws. "Please, you _must_ tell us!"

Still struggling madly to break free, Frankie jabbed in the direction of the window, shrieking with what little voice she had left.

"_Mac_! _Mac_! Oh for the love of God, let me go! Let me go! He's in trouble! Mac! Mac's in trouble!"

Almost instantly, the color seemed to rush from Bloo's face within an instant as he leapt away from the dogpile on Duchess to dash over to the injured girl.

"Mac? _My _Mac?" he sobbed in fright, as he could feel his heart thumping a mile a minute in his utmost horror.

"Oh good heavens, what's happening to him? Please, you must tell us!" Mr. Herriman yelled in mortified impatience.

Frankie however seemed completely oblivious to all as she continued to struggle wildly in Wilt's grasp, blood dripping from over a dozen wounds as she continued to point furiously outside, screaming at the top of her lungs.

"I NEED TO GET TO MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAC!"

* * *

As the fist slammed hard into his gut, Mac let loose with another muffled scream of agony around his makeshift gag. Oh God, when would it ever stop? His body felt like it was on fire from the innumerable punches and kicks he had taken, all supplemented by an endless amount of dark curses and lashes of verbal abuse. As his world was reduced to nothing more than excruciating pain, the child struggled furiously to breathe through the gag and with the blood that poured from his nose, and simply hope silently that he would loose consciousness soon. 

No such luck. As Terrence let fly with a furious kick to his side, Mac's body only became only more inflamed with agony, the intense torment never seeming to end as blow after blow and kick after kick continued to rain down upon him.

With sweat pouring down his face and muscles so tense they looked fit to burst out of his scrawny arms, Terrence cut a nightmarish figure as he incessantly lashed out with everything he had. As his goons looked away or watched in strange fascination, raging fury blazed in the mulleted teen's eyes as he spat upon the sobbing figure upon the ground.

"You like that? Huh? _DO YA_?" Terrence screamed hoarsely, unable to control the volume of his voice in his raging anger. "Pain! Anguish! That's all my life is now, you little bastard!" he roared.

The teen dropped down to his knees to glare into the terror stricken eyes of his little brother. Mac gave a whimper of unfathomable terror as Terrence's face leered only inches away from his, face so twisted and contorted in rage he resembled a gargoyle.

"Did _I_ have a home to go to when Mom died? Did _I_ have others to care for me when I was all alone and had no on else? Did I have any of those things?" he asked with extreme acidity.

Mac just stared back silently, eyes wide open in fear.

"_NO_!" Terrence bellowed, slamming his fist down into the child's arm, causing Mac to convulse briefly as fresh agony surged through his body. "I didn't get any of that! All _I_ had was the pity of some assholes that were ready to abandon me just as soon as take me in! But _you_! _You_ were safe and sound in your goddamn freak house, with your scummy little blob and that redheaded bitch!"

Mac shut his eyes tightly as the sheer volume of Terrence's anguished screams assaulted his ears.

"_It's not fair_!" the teenager bellowed ferociously. "Why does everything good happen to _you_, when _I_ get all the crap that life can possibly throw at me? Why is it that when Mom dies, I'm left alone out on the streets and you get the happy home? Why? It makes no damn sense WHEN IT'S ALL _YOUR_ FAULT ANY OF THIS EVERY HAPPENED!"

Unable to utter so much as a sob, Mac could only stare back wordlessly while the tears streamed down his face, completely helpless to do a thing while his body raged with pain and his brother so ruthlessly accused him for causing their mother's death. Quivering with rage, Terrence brutally lashed out at the defenseless child by angrily slamming his fist down upon the boy's stomach, his own eyes starting to well up with hot tears of burning anger.

"_You _were the one that trashed over a hundred bucks worth of pot! It was because of _you _that I was forced me to scrounge about for money to pay for your mess like a stinkin' beggar! It was because of _you _that I had to go over to Ben's house and give up what little I had! It was because of _you_ that Mom had to pick me up, and she ended up in pieces under a pile of twisted metal! _IT'S BECAUSE OF YOU THAT MOM DIED AND MY ENTIRE LIFE HAS GONE TO HELL!" _he screamed as loudly as he could.

"Terrence, quiet down a bit, would ya?" one of his thugs whispered, glancing about nervously. "We don't wanna-"

The teen's protests fell upon deaf ears however, as Terrence was completely overcome with bitter rage of the darkest nature. Staring coldly at his semiconscious little brother, the only living family he had left,his twisted his mouth into a fierce growl as he slowly withdrew a switchblade from his pocket.

"You've taken away everything I had, Mac." He whispered with the utmost vehemence of hate. "It's only fair now that I-"

Before he could finish saying what was sure to be a memorable line, he was abruptly interrupted as a loud commotion suddenly could be heard from the old Victorian mansion a couple hundred yards away. Like a raging river of water bursting through floodgates, the doors ripped open to let loose a huge pack of an innumerable number of imaginary friends, all of them charging right towards the gang of teens and undoubtedly to the rescue of Foster's resident eight-year-old. The house residents swept over the lawn with dizzying speed, like a charging army, with one particularly small, blobbish imaginary friend far outstripping the others. Terrence only had a chance to glance at this awesome sight for a brief moment before he suddenly felt himself become grabbed by the arms and brutally yanked away. Realizing that his sole chance of completing his long-awaited revenge was being abruptly exterminated right before his very eyes, he struggled furiously as he was dragged off into the woods that surrounded Foster's.

"Hey! What the hell! Let me go! I gotta-" he tried to protest angrily.

"Just let it go man, let it go! We gotta get outta here!" the burly fourteen-year-old bellowed as he forcibly pulled Terrence along, eyes bulging with terror and voice thick with panic. Sobbing with rage, Terrence could only take one glance back at the forlorn, unmoving little figure sprawled upon the ground not too far away. In an instant, the battered body of his brother disappeared from sight behind a clutter of trees as the gang raced furiously to put as much distance between them and the angry mob from Foster's. As the gang of thugs bolted off to safety, they only managed to get a short distance away before a sharp cry of unfathomable anguish and grief rang out through the night, as a devastated imaginary friend lamented the fate of his beloved creator.

"MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAC! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

That's all for now, folks! Lucyrocks is doing the next chapter, as always!

Please review!


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's notes: Hey! It's lucyrocks73, here to bring you another chapter (finally!). Now that my schedule has calmed down a bit (my school play is over), I will have more time to write. Dude13 and I are planning on regularly updating from now on, so don't worry! So, without further ado…**

* * *

"Mac," Bloo whispered. "C'mon buddy…"

It was just Bloo and Mac now- the other friends were still searching for Terrence, Ben, and their gang.

"B-Bloo…" Mac rasped, semi-conscious, gazing at his friend through badly blurring vision. "I…"

"Shhh! Don't talk, buddy…" Bloo whispered reassuringly, trying to hold back the tears as looked over his creator's battered body. His white sleeves were beginning to stain with red, and the beginnings of bruises covered him wherever they could be possibly be visible, and most likely there was a plethora of other various injuries hidden from view. Bloo whimpered, carefully cradling his friend's head as if holding a glass statue with one stubby arm and grasping onto one of his hand's tightly with the other. The little azure blob could only look on helplessly as his friend simply lay there, struggling to breathe….ever couple of seconds, his breath would catch a little, causing Bloo's eyes to widen with alarm and fear.

Mac suddenly began to cough, and to Bloo's horror, blood began to trickle from his mouth.

"Oh My God…" he murmured under his breath as Mac's eyes slowly started to close. "Mac… try to stay awake. Please, I know it hurts, but…"

It was too late. Mac had already slipped into unconsciousness, and no matter how hard Bloo shook him, or how loudly he hollered, the child would not wake up.

* * *

Wilt stepped on a twig and heard it snap. The snapping was the only thing he could hear in the bitter silence of the woods. Normally, he would have been relaxed by the fresh pine smell of the woods, but tonight it reminded him of blood… and violence… and Mac.

He stopped walking for a moment, and listened. He could faintly hear coughing in the distance.

Then it stopped. Wilt kept walking, and then heard it again. He stopped once more. This happened twice more, and then the coughing ceased. Afraid that he had gone in the wrong direction, Wilt turned around.

As he started to walk in the other direction, he heard a small voice.

"Wilt?"

Wilt turned around to see a faint blue figure between the trees. "Bloo, where's…?"

"Right here."

Wilt said nothing as he solemnly watched the shaken imaginary friend cry. Mac was in rough shape, with blood matting down his shaggy brown hair, and his skin was now eerily white.

The lanky creature groaned as a thought crossed his mind. Frankie… oh God, how on earth would they tell Frankie? The poor girl was downstairs at the house, horribly injured herself, waiting for any news on Mac. Wosr of all, she was stubbornly refusing all help until they came back.

"Bloo… let's get him back to the-"

He was interrupted by the distinct crunching sound of someone walking over dead leaves. Bloo's bowed head looked up as an unfamiliar figure walked toward them.

"Who the heck are _you_?" Bloo spat, thinking that it might have been a gang member.

Connor gasped in shock as this surprise inquiry, dropping the crunched up address in his hand and struggling furiously to make out the two shadowy figures before him.

"Gah! Sorry, sorry!" he cried apologetically, raising his hands to show he meant no harm.

"Please, I just need some help! Do you know where Foster's Home for Imag-"

The words died upon his lips as he spotted the bloodied child in Bloo's arms. "Oh my-"

Wilt just eyed him suspiciously, balling his hand into a fist. "How do we know we can trust you?"

"Huh?" the young man grunted in ignorance.

"Yeah!" Bloo growled, protectively hugging his creator close. "How do we know that you weren't with Terrence?"

"_Terrence_?"

The bemused Connor pondered the question for a moment. "I'm…kinda too old to be part of some teenager's gang." He murmured.

"I'm still not convinced." Wilt countered, glowering fiercely.

Connor gulped nervously, passing a quick glance at the unconscious eight-year-old. "Please, just listen! I didn't…I just wanted…look, I know more about this then you think I do. I also work for a hospital- maybe I can help."

Wilt glanced at Bloo, who had begun to sob miserably, thought of poor Frankie, and then gazed at Mac's motionless body.

"Fine… but I still don't trust you." he murmured truthfully.

"I didn't say you had to."

* * *

Frankie wrung her hands anxiously, heart beating like mad in her chest. Some of the friends had stayed behind to help her, and they managed to carry her down to the foyer and gently place her upon a chair. Despite her horrendous condition however, and the fierce pain that surged throughout her body, she refused to let the others even call for an ambulance. No, not until Mac was found.

The girl suddenly tensed up and let out a small yelp of pain as an extra twinge of agony jolted her body. Mr. Herriman frowned as he worked furiously to apply a makeshift splint to her broken leg.

"Miss Frances, please, you _must_ stay still." He chastened her gently, trying to keep his usually austere character but still speaking in a soft tone of voice that trembled noticeably.

"Just lie still and relax, I'm sure Master Mac will be fine," the oversized rabbit muttered over and over again, although whether it was to calm her or simply put to peace his own frazzled nerves, it was hard to tell. However, how her grandmother's creation was feeling was really the very last thing on Frankie's mind at the moment, as she mentally berated himself without pause.

How could she have been so stupid? Mac was telling the truth all along, and she was foolish enough not to believe him. Mac didn't make up stories, she should've known better than that! Most eight-year-olds would, yes…but not Mac...

Mac. Every single time she heard his name spoken, every time she thought it in her head, her heart lurched.

As she trembled uncontrollably with excruciating worry, she could only hope, only pray with every ounce in her body that despite whatever sick plot had been enacted tonight, that at least had he had gotten away safely. Or, at least with minor injuries-

Suddenly, the door burst open and a person she didn't recognize walked in, Wilt right behind him. However the mysterious young man's appearance didn't catch her eye as much as the fact that in his arms was…

Mac.

Motionless.

Bleeding.

_Dying_.

No…

Frankie burst into tears instantaneously. Immediately forgetting her own atrocious injuries as she was overwhelmed with grief, she pushed her temporary medic away and attempted to get up and limp over to the little boy. She was, needless to say, unsuccessful. Mr. Herriman looked over at her in pity as she collapsed in a sobbing mess of heartbroken misery, with the tears cascading down her face as she lay in a pitiful bundle on the floor.

Connor, realizing that this must be the Frances Foster he read about in the police report, waited patiently until Wilt and Mr. Herriman deposited her back onto her seat, and immediately the young man set the child's fragile body in her outstretched arms.

Frankie's expression revealed no emotion but the deepest sorrow as she whispered, "It's…it's time to make that call, please."

Immediately Mr. Herriman dashed frantically to the nearest phone, leaving the girl alone to check on her charge. Frankie put her hand on Mac's forehead.

"He's got a fever," she choked, tears flooding unchecked down her face as she rocked the little boy gently in her arms.

"There's nothing we can really do right now," Connor replied somberly. "Better to wait for the paramedics to arrive, they should be here shortly.

Frankie finally pried her eyes off of Mac to take a good look at the mysterious newcomer for the first time she arrived. "Who are you, exactly?" she inquired warily, while instinctively tightening her hold on Mac.

Connor was silent for a moment as he furiously considered his answer, finally deciding for bluntness above anything else.

"I…well, not long ago, I first found Terrence in the back alley of the Burger King I worked at, see, and…"

As he blurted out a quick summary of all that he knew, Frankie's emerald eyes were never still for a moment as she constantly checked back to the unconscious child in her arms while she protectively hugged him close.

"…Well, after he took off, I decided to go to the police department and do some…um, research, I guess. Y'know, just see what was the deal with this kid, 'cuz the whole thing seemed pretty screwy to me overall. At first they wouldn't tell me anything, but fortunately, a friend of mine works there. Anyway, I was just expecting some info about some orphan, but I got some stuff telling me what really happened about Terrence's past…you know, how his mom died, and that the kid I was helping was supposed to be long dead too. However, I also managed to find out that he had a little brother, who _you_ received custody of. I figured that I would find out some more information here, so I took off tonight to talk to Mac, see if he knew about any of this. Well, that was my intention, at least…"

Frankie struggled to pay attention to all he was able to reveal to her, but her efforts abruptly stopped as soon as she suddenly felt a weak squeeze in the hand that held Mac's.

"_Mac_?" she whispered frantically, a fresh batch of tears welling up in her eyes. Mac groaned, and his eyes opened slightly.

"Pal, I-" she started.

However, almost immediately the battered child burst into a fit of coughing, his grip on Frankie's hand instinctively becoming tighter.

"No Mac, please!" the girl begged, desperately trying not to burst into sobs. She hugged the little boy tighter, stroking his head reassuringly and whispering gently into her ear in a frantic attempt to soothe him.

"It'll be okay pal, it's gonna be alright." She said in a horribly trembling tone voice. "You'll be fine, I promise. We're all here, me, and….and…."

She glanced around the foyer, searching for a familiar blue blob that she was sure would be there. "W-where's Bloo?"

Wilt, who had intentionally been silent until now, seemed shocked once he glanced about and realized the imaginary friend in question was nowhere to be seen. "He...he was right behind me before…"

Rather than finish his thought, the lanky friend immediately darted back outside. "Bloo? Bloo!"

Silence. Panicked, Wilt dashed to the back of the house.

"Bloo, where are you? Bloo?"

More silence. He started running back through part of the woods.

"Okay, Bloo, this isn't funny. Bloo? Bloo, we need you right-"

A groan came from behind a tree. "I'm… I'm right here."

Wilt followed the voice. He turned to see Bloo lying on the ground, head cut and bleeding.

"Bloo! Are you okay?" he instinctively asked, although it was obvious that the little creature was not exactly in good condition. Bloo whined at his rescuer.

"Better than Mac is at the moment." He tried to get up, but a wave of dizzying nausea swept over him.

"Here, let me help." Wilt scooped up Bloo into his good arm. "What happened? We thought you were right behind us the whole time."

"I was… I guess I wasn't looking where I was going… I sort of tripped and hit my head on a rock," the azure imaginary friend replied. "I..I just wanted to make sure Mac was okay, but..b-but I didn't se where-"

"I can understand that. But try to be careful- we don't need anyone else hurt tonight."

They arrived at the front of the house to see that the ambulance had arrived, plus a few other emergency vehicles. Despite the flurry of flashing lights and the mess of personal dashing about, the two couldn't help but at least managed a few weak grins as they stopped to watch a screeching Duchess being forcibly carried off by a few burly police officers.

However, inside, it was still a pitiful sight to behold. It took a combination of Mr. Herriman and Madame Foster a good five minutes to convince Frankie to turn over the child in her grasp; the shock from the trauma she had just endured had made her a bit distrustful of all other at the moment. Even when they were finally successful, she still gave out a small heartbreaking cry as a paramedic lifted Mac from her arms and placed him on a stretcher. Nevertheless, the girl finally relented, allowing them to take her too.

In the midst of the mass chaos, Mac was vaguely aware of what was happening. All he felt was a white-hot pain shoot through his body as he was rolled next to Frankie in the ambulance. It hurt to think, it hurt to move, and it hurt to breathe. Someone fitted an oxygen mask over his small face, and Mac felt himself lose consciousness as his breathing eased.

"Do you want anything for the pain?" Connor asked Frankie, climbing with them into the ambulance. "I can have them give you-"

Frankie didn't even pass him so much as a hasty glance while she kept her gaze locked on the child besides her.

"Pain?" she murmured incredulously. "What pain?"

* * *

"Stitches?" Frankie inquired curiously as she watched Bloo saunter wearily into the hospital room.

Normally, Mac would be in the pediatric wing and Frankie would have a regular room, but Connor convinced the doctors to put them in together. Thus, it was here that they waited while the hospital staff continued to tend to Mac somewhere else in the expansive facility.

Bloo nodded. "Uh huh."

His head was mildly bandaged. Frankie's broken leg was in a cast, and numerous bandages covered her here and there. As battered and thoroughly beaten as she looked on the outside, however, there was nothing that could compare to the agonizing aching of her heart inside.

Noticing the pain in her expression, Bloo gasped in horror.

"D-did they tell you about Mac yet?" he whispered, looking as if he was bracing himself to hear the very worst.

Frankie took a hard swallow, paused to attempt to compose herself, then finally forced on a weak grin for the little creature's benefit. "He's… well, after they initially looked over him, they told me that he's going to be okay…."

Bloo stared dumbly, not thoroughly convinced by her laconic explanation. "Anything else?"

"….No," Frankie confessed miserably.

Fortunately though, they weren't destined to be kept stewing in gut-wrenching anxiety for much longer. As if by divine intervention, literally moments later the door burst open and a few nurses entered.

"Mac…?" Frankie whispered hopefully.

"_MAC_!" Bloo squealed, recognizing his creator instantaneously. "You're-"

"Please, not now!" a bulky female nurse snapped at the blob as he looked ready to jump right onto the bed without a second thought. Sulking, Bloo clambered onto Frankie's bed and sat himself upon the mattress, intently examining the current state of his best friend.

The young boy was lying in the bed, his face extremely gaunt and pale. A tube in his nose was pumped oxygen into him, and an IV was taped to the back of his hand. Frankie winced as she remembered how much Mac hated needles. Bruised and battered, Mac was black and blue everywhere his skin showed. Bloo shuddered as he thought of how more hideous he must've looked under all the bandages and hospital gown.

"H-how is he?" Frankie inquired nervously in a hoarse whisper to whom she assumed was the doctor, wringing her hands furiously and her eyes starting to well up again. The man nodded curtly before he gave his report.

"Well, Miss Foster," the doctor answered, "As you can see, he's having trouble breathing. While treating him we actually found that he has an acute case of asthma."

The young woman paled noticeably, the blunt news of yet another ailment obviously _not_ being what she wanted to hear.

"Oh _no_…"

"Has he been having trouble breathing lately, Miss Foster?" the doctor continued calmly in his straightforward manner.

Frankie nodded gravely, blushing deeply in shame. "I…I actually had a doctor's appointment set up for him tomorrow afternoon…"

Bloo raised an eyebrow at her, this whole thing being news to him. However, the doctor still only continued on with his report, as terse and businesslike as ever, as if he was ignorant of the pair's painfully obvious anguish.

"This is usually treated easily with an inhaler, so we shouldn't worry. His fever is at 104 degrees, so we need to get that down."

"B-but…" Frankie stammered, pointing dumbly at the heavily bandaged child nearby.

"No need to worry, miss. Besides that, you can clearly see the extent of the damage for yourself. The boy only looks worse off than he really is; the injuries were mainly superficial. True, there were a substantial amount of cuts and bruises, but overall, besides some bruised ribs, we found no major internal injuries."

Frankie and Bloo both elicited simultaneous sighs of relief.

"When… when will he wake up?" Bloo stuttered.

The doctor shrugged. "Hopefully soon- maybe a few hours, maybe a day or two. He just passed out from the pain and shock. He'll be sore for a while, but we'll give him some pain medication when he wakes up."

He nodded at Frankie, and before she could say a single thing he silently exited the room, no doubt to tend to other patients.

"That's… a relief," Bloo muttered, flashing the girl a weak smile before plodding over to his creator's side.

Frankie however did not share the imaginary friend's joy. She only turned her gaze at the unconscious figure on the nearby bed and sighed painfully as she wiped at a few tears that threatened to spill down her cheek.

"I just hope he won't hurt too much." She whimpered.

* * *

**Author's notes: So, after almost two months of being busy, I finally had time to finish this. Expect the next chapter in a week or two! I hope the chapter was worth the wait…**

**-Marty :-D (lucyrocks73)**


	9. Chapter 9

Ack, I'm sorry! I would've had this posted sooner, but the site was giving me difficulties.

Just want to say one thing, though - sorry, but it looks like lucyrocks and I are going to have a bit of erratic updating schedule, meaning it's not exactly going to be clear how much time there's going to be before every new chapter. But don't anyone be alarmed if we're talking a while, we have absolutely do desire to abandon this story.

Enjoy the chapter!

-Dude13

* * *

Fuming, Terrence stormed down the street, his mind a mess of seething rage. 

"Gutless bastards." He murmured darkly to himself. Some friends those were, ready to join his side in an instant one minute, than fleeing for their lives the next. Traitorous scum, their alliances switched with the blowing of the wind, doing whatever seemed to perfectly suit their own separate needs at that very moment. And, after being chased for half the night by an enraged mob of imaginary friends, his old gang had decided that their best course of action right now would be to lie low for a while.

Terrence on the other hand could've cared far less at that very moment, the entire fiasco being more of an infuriating irritant more than anything. After being separated from the rest of the group, he had immediately set out to complete his task. There would be no way fate would rob him of his revenge again. His rage only increased in rapid spurts with every time he thought of Mac – still alive, no doubt still among those freaks, living it up in luxarywhile his own brother was scrounging about in the streets like a stray dog. The very thought of the total injustice caused the teen to burn within from thewhite hot pangs of anger.

The teen managed a grin as he spotted the blue sigh, displaying a prominent white "H." Soon, all would be set right, and justice would be served. After losing everything, he would get the compensation rightfully due to him.

There would be _no_ mistakes _this_ time.

* * *

"...I...I'm so sorry…." Bloo whispered piteously, dutifully perched by Mac's bedside so as to carefully keep watch over his friend. 

"Huh? What'd you say?" Frankie inquired groggily from her bed, opening a pair of bleary eyeballs. Thinking she had been sound asleep, the little blob was taken off guard by her sudden inquiry, yelping in shock.

"Augh! Um, nothing! N-nothing! I just…I...I just had something in my throat, and-"

Frankie groaned, rubbing the drowsiness from her eyes.

"Please, Bloo." The redhead sighed heavily, obviously in no mood to put up with his erratic behavior. "What was it? You just said something to Mac, I _heard_ you." She stated flatly.

"N-no…." the little imaginary friend denied weakly, choosing to stare at the floor rather than make eye contact.

"Why did you just _apologize_ to Mac?" Frankie persisted, clambering up into a sitting position.

"I didn't-"

"I could've _sworn_ you just whispered something like "I'm sorry." Don't try to deny it." The girl continued.

This time, Bloo didn't even respond. Instead, he fidgeted silently under Frankie's scrutinizing gaze, akin to a guilty toddler receiving strong rebuke from an annoyed parent. As he squirmed about anxiously, Frankie sighed and softened her look.

"Bloo, it's okay. I'm the only one here." she assured him, waving her arm to encompass the room. Indeed, they were the only ones present, Wilt and Mr. Herriman having both left just minutes before to grab a bite to eat before resuming their visit.

"I…I was just…" Bloo began to stammer nervously, slowly raising his head.

"Yeah…."

"I was…I was apologizing 'cuz…well, I…."

"It's okay." Frankie encouraged him, even managing to conjure up a hint of a reassuring smile.

"…. Because what happened is all _my_ fault!" Bloo finally blurted out, immediately ducking into a cowering position, quivering furiously as if expecting the girl to shriek furiously at him in absolute agreement.

However, his fear was entirely in vain. Instead, Frankie only stared at him stupidly, wide-eyed in disbelief as if the little creature had done nothing but sputter incomprehensible gibberish.

"Bloo…what are you _talking_ about?" she asked incredulously.

"I was…well, I…" Bloo stammered nervously, taken off guard by her response.

"Please, don't say that…don't lie…" the girl pleaded sadly.

"Wait, _what_?" he squealed.

"Don't martyr yourself because of _me_." Frankie continued. "Oh please, don't you think I'm feeling awful enough as it is?" she whined.

"Wait, I don't-" Bloo struggled to comprehend her words.

"Bloo, what happened to Mac is entirely _my_ fault and we all know it!" Frankie blurted out, her voice thick with misery and self-loathing.

Bloo looked like as if he had taken a blow to the stomach. "What? Frankie, what the heck are you talking about? I-"

"Hey, didn't I tell you to knock it off?" the young woman grumbled bitterly. "I already feel worse enough as it is for letting my own little-brother get beaten half to death! The last thing I need is for you to start-"

"Hey! HEY!" Bloo abruptly interrupted. "Frankie, stoppit! We all know that we probably wouldn't even _be_ here right now if _I_ just-"

Frankie just shook her head furiously. "_I'm_ his legal guardian, _I_ should've looked after him better!"

"But _I'm_ his imaginary friend! _I'm_ the one who should've been there when he needed _me _the most!" Bloo protested, his anger rising swiftly.

"No, no!" Frankie denied bitterly, refusing him to take all the blame. "It was _me_! I should've been there to chase off all those punks! Instead I let myself get jumped and practically beaten to a pulp with a damn fire poker of all things, like-"

"Oh, no way!" Bloo yelled, glaring at the girl angrily as he clambered atop her bed. "You have an excuse at least! Where the heck was I? If anything, I'm the one who should've known something was-"

"An excuse? _An excuse_?" Frankie almost screamed. "_What_ excuse? My own idiocy? My own stupidity? My inability to think three seconds into the future?"

"No, that's not-" Bloo angrily tried to interject.

"For allowing Mac to go outside on his own? For letting myself get fooled by _Duchess_? For practically signing the little guy's death warrant when I let him walk right by me and into a trap?" Frankie bombarded the little imaginary friend with reasons for her guilt, voice thick with bitter self-disgust.

"No, that's not what I meant at all!" Bloo yelled, storming down the mattress and right up to the redhead's face. The two glared at each other momentarily before Bloo, quivering with rage, angrily jabbed a shaking azure appendage at the girl.

"I _saw_ Terrence! _I_ saw him right there walking down the street. _I_ knew for sure that he was still alive, and after living for five years in the apartment with that scumbag, _I_ should've known he was gonna be up to no good! I could've done _something_ at least, instead of running home the second I saw him like a…like...like a _coward_!" he furiously accused himself.

Frankie's face tone turned a vibrant scarlet, her skin practically matching her fiery red hair in her intense anger. With a growl she raised her heavily bandaged arms and unceremoniously shoved them into Bloo's face.

"Oh, and like_ I_ was completely helpless?" she hissed, showing the bitter reminders of her brutal attack.

"Look at this! I let _Duchess_ do this to me!" she growled, forcing her arms into Bloo to emphasize every word. "_Duchess_! _To me_! I let a nasty backstabbing witch who won't even flush a toilet on her own beat me half-senseless while my own little brother was fighting for his life right outside!"

"_You_ at least knew that it was actually happening! _You_ tried to fight your way out! _I_ didn't even know what was going on until Mac was already half dead!" Bloo angrily rebuffed her, slapping Frankie's arms away.

"Oh, and what a great job I did of _that_!" Frankie growled scornfully, jabbing at the heavy cast covering her right leg. "Without you, I would've been clawed to pieces while Mac would've been killed right on our back lawn!"

"Without you, I wouldn't even have known about that until Mac was already dead! Like _I_ did any better!" Bloo practically screamed, regardless of who heard him. "Frankie, what happened to Mac was all _my_ fault!"

"NO!" Frankie refused angrily, gritting her teeth and thumping her fists hard upon the mattress. "I'm the reason he's like… that he's…dammit, I never even listened to the poor little guy! Not even for one lousy second, not even when he had _your_ word as proof too! Yeah I tried to look after him, but I _never_ fully believed him, even with two witnesses! Why the hell I didn't believe _either_ of you, I'll never know! Arrgh, there was so much that I never-"

"_You_ didn't do enough? I'm the one who should've looked after him better! I saw Terrence! I knew for sure that he was back! I should've watched Mac's back! _I'm_ his imaginary friend!" Bloo furiously reiterated once more.

"_I'm_ his big sister!" Frankie fiercely rebutted.

"_I'm_ his _best_ friend!"

"_I'm_ his legal guardian!"

"I'm his-"

"Well I'm-"

"I should've-"

"No, _I_ was the one who-"

"It was all-" 

"I was all _my_-"

"_IT WAS ALL MY FAULT!"_ both managed to howl at each other in unison like some bizarre chorus, with eyes tightly shut and fists clenched so firmly each sported a pair of chalk-white knuckles.

When the scream session was over, the small hospital room was hurled into a deafening silence, the only noises audible being the various clicks and beeps emitting from the various machinery monitoring the state of the still-unconscious eight-year-old in the next bed.

Trying to catch her breath after her frenzied outburst, Frankie slowly began to open her eyelids once again. Immediately, her gaze was met by the most pitiful of sights. Instead of staring back boldly at her, still full of bitter rage, all the anger and self-loathing Bloo had displayed just a minute before had completely vanished without a trace. Now, he only glanced miserably across the room, staring longingly at the little patient not too far away, as if he had hoped for a few brief moments that the recent argument had somehow awoken his creator.

Alas, there was no such luck. Mac still lay in his bed as silent and motionless as before, and from the pathetic look on Bloo's face, it was quite obvious his hopes had been already been ruthlessly crushed long before Frankie had fully opened her eyes again. A low whimper emitted from the forlorn little imaginary friend.

"Bloo?" Frankie whispered, temporarily forgetting her own vile self-hatred as she watched the distressed little creature concernedly. "Bloo…"

Sniffling, he finally turned to face the girl, eyes starting to brim with warm tears of miserable frustration. Immediately, Frankie began to feel the all too familiar sensation of her own eyes welling up furiously as her gaze met that of the heartbroken imaginary friend. The two continued to stare at each other in a dead silence for a few tense moments, two kindred souls sharing a common crippling emotional pain.

Suddenly, Bloo lifted up his stubby little arms and reached out towards Frankie, sniffling uncontrollably as he looked for all the world like an infant desiring comfort from its parent. At this point, the tears were gushing unchecked down Frankie's cheeks, and with a bitter sob she threw her arms open wide and pulled the little imaginary friend close in a tight hug. Instantly the young woman began to bawl uncontrollably, with Bloo joining in quickly to sob loudly with her in unison. As Frankie tightened her squeeze, Bloo returned the embrace and wrapped his blobby appendages tightly around her trembling figure, burrowing deep into the crook of her neck as if trying to escape from all the crushing sadness, the bitter self-loathing, the burning anger, and the never-ending pain.

"F-Frankie…" he tried to whisper, but whatever he meant to say was instantly forgotten as a rough sob cut him off in mid-sentence, a fresh surge of agonizing grief swiftly overwhelming the little imaginary friend. It didn't really matter however, asFrankie was crying so hard she already lost the ability to speak, utterly helpless to do anything but emit wail after heartbreaking wail as the tears gushed down the sides of her face. The pair embraced each other miserably, lamenting the horrid fate that had become of Mac, with neither one able to forgive themselves for the role they had played in this twisted living nightmare.

* * *

"You need anything right now?" Wilt asked concernedly as he fluffed up the hospital pillows. Frankie looked up briefly to flash him a pitiful excuse for a forced smile. 

"No thanks, Wilt." She managed to whisper in a strained voice. The lanky imaginary friend frowned as he took a seat next to the girl's bed.

"You sure? I'm sorry that there's nothing I can…"

"It's okay. Don't worry about it." Came the murmured reply. Frankie then immediately turned her head away and went back to her depressing vigil, keeping her eyes fixated upon the little boy in the bed just a few feet from her own. At the same time, the redhead carefully cradled the emotionally and physically drained azure blob that lay curled up in her arms, fast asleep in her embrace.

It was a truely heartbreaking sight. Frankie kept her sight locked upon the pitiful figure, watching Mac intently through sunken, baggy eyelids as she sat in bed almost completely immobile. The only hint of life she showed was the manner in which she used one hand to absentmindedly stroke the forlorn little imaginary friend that dozed uneasily in her arms. Every now and then, Bloo would let out a low, distressed whimper and immediately try to fervently burrow deeper into the girl's embrace, at which Frankie would instantly respond by trying to hug the frazzled creature closer, all the while keeping her gaze continuously locked upon Mac.

Wilt sighed heavily as he spotted the tray containing the girl's dinner resting by her bedside, the food completely untouched.

"Don't you want any of your supper?" he asked delicately, softly prodding her shoulder.

"I'm not hungry." Frankie replied in a barely audible mumble, not even bothering to turn her head.

"Are you sure? It looks good..." The gentle soul tried to coax her, as if trying to talk to a stubborn infant.

"No thank you. I don't want anything right now." She continued steadfastly with a dull murmur, still unwilling to remove her gaze.

"C'mon, I'm sure that-"

"No thanks." Came the blunt reply.

Wilt frowned. "Just one or two bites, and that's all I-"

"I said I'm not hungry."

"Okay, maybe just _one_ bite then, that's-"

"Wilt, I said _no_!" Frankie snapped aggressively, still refusing to face him. "I told you, I don't want anything right now!" she hissed, pounding a fist hard upon her mattress.

Her stubbornness finally proving to much to bear, Wilt suddenly found himself throwing up his arm in the air in exasperation, followed by an angry cry of, "Frankie, how on earth is starving_ yourself_ going to make _Mac_ get better?"

However, Wilt could not deny his overbearingly gentle nature, and almost immediately he regretted the words as soon as they rolled off his tongue. Instantly he gasped in mortified horror at his furious reply, and instinctively slapped a hand over his mouth to avoid spewing forth anymore bitterness.

The next few moments passed by in an unbearably tense silence. Wilt miserably kept his mouth clamped shut, stewing unhappily in his own self-disgust at his cruel response, and greatly fearing exactly how his "child" would reply. Beads of nervous sweat starting to drip down his brow, he silently watched as Frankie remained practically immobile, either ignoring her imaginary friend completely or racing furiously to come up with the harshest, angriest, fiercest reply she could think off. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the girl slowly turned her head, Wilt cringed….

…And his heart was wrenched by the pitiful sight. Her haggard features showed no hint of rage or traces of anger. Instead, the quivering lower lip, the small pools of tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks at any given moment, and the obviously feeble attempt she was showing to try and hold it all back revealed nothing but an excess of misery, self-loathing, and bitter defeat.

"Wilt…" Frankie sniffled in a badly trembling voice, trying to stifle a sob, "I...I don't know..."

. For a brief split-second, Wilt could've sworn this wasn't the feisty, strong-willed twenty-two-year old young woman he knew. Suddenly, she seemed to briefly transform into the orphaned toddler he first met so long ago; unimaginably frightened, feeling desperately alone in the world, and in dire need of anyone's comfort. Frowning, he reached over and began to gently stroke a cheek that was still marred with a nasty scratch wound that had not yet properly healed.

"Frankie, I just-"

But whatever words of comfort he wished to exchange, he never got a chance to finish. As if triggering an explosion to blow up a dam, the girl burst out sobbing hysterically the second his fingers made contact with her skin. Warm, salty tears began to cascade down her face in tiny rivulets, as her body began to violently shake with harsh, wracking sobs. Without further ado, Frankie leaned over and, as she had done so many times before when she was an infant, buried her face into the depths of her imaginary friend's soft, velvety fur. As the weeping young woman became completely overpowered by crippling grief, Wilt responded in turn by wrapping a long, skinny arm around her and hugging her close.

"Shhhhh. It's okay, Frankie. It's okay." He hushed her soothingly. Utterly inconsolable, Frankie could only reply with pitiful squeaks of distress as she struggled to burrow deeper into his hold, her pathetic emotional state rendering her completely helpless. For the next few minutes, the pair remained as they were. The lanky imaginary friend gently rocked the desolate young woman in his embrace, while Frankie meanwhile let it all out, causing the small hospital room to echo with her pitiful sobs, making no secret of her abject devastation.

"A-_hem_."

The sound of someone clearing his throat abruptly interrupted the moment. The duo glanced up simultaneously to meet the gaze of the elderly rabbit standing in the doorway.

"Um, terribly sorry to inconvenience you like this," Mr. Herriman muttered glumly, slightly embarrassed that he had walked in upon them. "But…I firmly regret to say that a nurse just informed me that visiting hours shall be ending in just a few more minutes. My deepest apologies, Miss Frances, but I'm afraid I must get going back to the house."

At this unpleasant news, Wilt and Frankie glanced into each other's eyes momentarily, each one the perfect model of misery. Not wishing to make it any harder for themselves, the lanky imaginary friend swiftly arose from his seat while the girl carefully lifted the still-sleeping Bloo so as to hand him over.

However, before they completed the transaction, Mr. Herriman suddenly cut in with a befuddled inquiry of "What on _earth_ are you two doing?"

Stunned, Wilt scuffed the floor with a large sneaker as he mumbled confusedly, "Well, you said visiting hours are almost over, and-"

"Yeah," Frankie added meekly. "A-and Wilt and Bloo…they're not-"

"Yes, but _I_ said _I _shall be taking _my_ leave. Madame Foster shall be in need of _my_ assistance back home rather shortly." Mr. Herriman explained matter-of-factly.

As the duo gave him a pair of blank stares, he softened his normally austere expression and smiled warmly at the two.

"If my memory serves me right, I do believe the proper place of an imaginary friend is with their child." He reminded them with a soft chuckle.

"I….yeah, but…." A very bewildered Frankie struggled to reply as she resumed to cradle Bloo to her chest.

Still grinning like a Cheshire Cat, the elderly rabbit lifted a finger to his lips and hushed her gently as he hopped to the bedside. Gently reaching forward, Mr. Herriman began to comfortingly stroke the frazzled girl's hair, hanging loosely above her shoulders. While it appeared to be completely out of character, Wilt didn't even do so much as raise an eyelid, recognizing it as an old ploy the elderly friend had used often to calm Frankie when she was much younger, usually after she had been plagued by some nightmare or some other nasty spook.

However, precisely because he hadn't done this since she was a toddler according to her memory, Frankie was taken off guard by this rare show of compassion from the normally austere figure, instinctively going rigid with a tiny yelp of surprise. Fortunately though, even now it didn't matter whether she was four or twenty-two, the results were exactly the same. It took only a few moments for the initial shock to wear off as the girl relaxed considerably under his reassuring gesture, her shock draining away as a weak grin began to slowly flitter across her tearstained visage.

"You just catch up on your rest now, Miss Frances." He spoke in a gentle whisper, delicately running his fingers through her crimson locks. "The doctors just informed me that Master Mac shall be awakening sometime tomorrow, so there's no need for you to worry about anything except getting a good night's sleep."

"R-really?" Frankie whispered hopefully, her smile swiftly expanding at the sound of the good news. "Tomorrow? You mean-"

"On my honor." Mr. Herriman chuckled warmly, wiping away a stray tear from her cheek. "The doctors said that by noon-"

Unable to restrain her glee, however, the girl let loose with a squeal of uncontainable delight, leaning over to wrap one arm tightly around the rabbit's waist in a warm hug.

"_T-thank you_!" she whispered happily, giving his chest an affectionate nuzzle. As she brushed up against his milky white stomach, Mr. Herriman seemed to momentarily lose his proper composure, a slight tint of scarlet starting to show through his silvery-gray fur.

"Well, I…it was nothing, it's just what the doctors told me and…. er…Master Wilt, I assume you shall of course look after her until tomorrow?" Mr. Herriman asked politely in an attempt to shift attention away from himself.

"Um, sure! Yeah, no problem, Mr. H!" he replied, nodding furiously and trying to hide a smile as he watched the elderly friend try and detach Frankie's arm from him as delicately as possible.

"…Please, Miss Frances,I really must get go-_what_? Oh, right! Excellent, Master Wilt! I shall inform the front desk of our "special" situation, and tomorrow morning Madame Foster shall arrive as soon as she can to check up on all of you. Er…is that all right, Miss Frances?"

"Yeah…yeah, that's okay." She replied, managing a small grin as she removed her arm and finally settled back into her pillows.

Still smiling warmly, Mr. Herriman gave her one last gentle pat of reassurance upon her shoulder. "In that case, I bid the both of you a good-night."

With that, the dignified rabbit hopped from the room, closing the door behind him and leaving the occupants alone once again. Only seconds later, Wilt suddenly shot a sideways glance at the other nearby bed and the little figure inhabiting it, then at the redhead, who had continued to watch him intently.

"Shall we?" he asked her with a bit of a playful smirk.

"Huh?" she asked dumbly, turning to meet his gaze. "Shall we what?"

Wilt grinned, wagging a finger at her. "You're no good at playing innocent sometimes, y'know that?"

Frankie only blushed slightly; a bit embarrassed that he knew exactly what was on her mind.

"Well...only if it's not _too _much trouble…"

Still cradling the snoring azure blob in her arms, Frankie allowed the lanky imaginary friend to delicately scoop her up with a winding appendage. As soon as Wilt set her back down in the next bed, she immediately reached over and picked up the unconscious Mac with the utmost care, coddling the child gently in one arm as she continued to cradle Bloo in the other.Wilt grinned as he watched the girl settle herself comfortably, a small smile of contentment swiftly sweeping across her face.

"Feeling any better now?" he asked, flashing his trademark toothy grin.

"Well…to be honest, now that you mentioned it, I _am_ starting to feel a little bit famished…" the girl murmured, hungrily eyeing her dinner tray. Wilt laughed as he ruffled her hair affectionately.

"Oh great, the bunny talks to you, and _now _you wanna eat. But when _I_ try it…."

* * *

Frankie emitted an annoyed groaned as her eyes slowly opened. Her stupid cast was bothering her again. Grumbling incoherently under her breath, the girl tried to settle herself back into a comfortable position. This was no less than the third time she had awoken this night, the cumbersome irritant adorning her leg itching like mad and causing her a ridiculous amount of discomfort. Unfortunately, like when she had awoken earlier before, there was little else she could do but lie back and pray for sleep to overtake her once more. 

Trying to take her mind off her irritation, Frankie decided to check on the small child in her arms. Happily, she noted that Mac's breathing had improved considerably in the past few hours; it seemed much easier and regulated. Much to her delight, the peacefully resting eight-year-old looked as if he could be back home at Foster's, fast asleep in his own bed. Almost entranced by the cherubic figure, Frankie didn't even realize her own eyelids were slowly drooping further and further shut, as she unknowingly drifted off back into-

The sudden unexpected squeak of sneakers in the small hospital room abruptly knocked her back into a state of semi-consciousness. Groaning sourly, she moved her bleary gaze over to the silhouetted figure not too far away from the bed.

"Wilt," she moaned grumpily. "Do ya really have to make such a racket when you're-"

The rest of the sentence died upon her lips as soon as she spotted the glint of a switchblade in the moonlight. Even worse, she quickly realized that "Wilt" had suddenly shrunk at least five feet, while a new spiky hairdo adorned his skull. Frankie's eyes almost bulged out of her sockets, her mind swiftly becoming an anarchic whirl of hysterical panic.

_Oh, please don't be…_

Frankie's eyes darted to the side. As soon as she spotted the lanky imaginary friend sprawled in a chair nearby, fast asleep and snoring loudly, her blood ran cold as her worst fears were instantly confirmed.

Fortunately, upon seeing her wide awake, Terrence had put an abrupt halt to his advance. The grungy teen stood there stupidly in mid-creep, eyes bulging in shock and very much unsure of what to do next.

Unfortunately, at the moment Frankie's options seemed just as unclear and severely limited. Heart pounding wildly within her chest, the girl found herself to be almost completely petrified in gut-wrenching fright. So shocked and horrified upon seeing the teenager only a few feet away, her muscles went into a state of fear-driven paralysis. Frankie's legs refused to move, her arms felt like dead weight, and to top it all off, she still cradled Mac and Bloo in her hold, practically displaying them like a pair of open targets.

Even worse, her voice box had become as immobilized as the rest of her in her extreme shock, swiftly eliminating the option of crying out for help. However, in his stunned condition, Terrence also seemed to have been struck temporarily mute. In a dead silence, the teenager and the young woman stared at each other wordlessly. Terrence bit down hard upon his lip as he struggled to keep his wits together, trying hard with every ounce of strength to remain calm, patient, and to keep from fleeing the room screaming.

While her adversary fought hard to keep quiet, Frankie worked fervently to make any sound possible. A scream, a cry, a yelp anything would do! She glanced helplessly over at the dozing Wilt not too far away, dead asleep and blissfully unaware of the situation. If she could only wake him up, everything would be okay. She just had to say _something_, anything!

She gritted her teeth tightly as she struggled feverishly to regain a shred of control over her paralyzed throat muscles. Sweat began to drip from her brow in her fierce exertion, running down her face and mixing freely with her tears of terror that spilled from her eyes. She just had to say something; two innocent lives now literally rested completely in her hands alone.

* * *

Terrence stood immobile in front of the bed, making no movement of any sort except his chest, which swiftly rose and fell as his breath came in terse gasps. The teen's mind became a whirl of utter terror, as his eyes remained locked in contact with the young woman directly across from him. 

What was going on? Why hadn't see done anything yet? Here he was, in her room, with a knife, with _her_ wide-awake and fully aware of it all. All logic said that half the hospital should be reverberating with her shrieks of horror by now. Of course, Terrence would already be caught long by then; that skinny red thing in the chair looked like he could move like the wind itself.

Yet, here they were. He was still there, completely untouched. The rest of the hospital continued to remain blissfully ignorant of his presence. Only one soul knew exactly what was going on…yet she seemed to have been struck mute in her sheer terror.

Terrence suddenly jumped a little in shock Frankie finally opened her mouth. Immediately he braced himself, crouching slightly in preparation to dart to safety the moment the girl emitted the slightest sound. Switchblade clenched tightly in his hand, he gritted his teeth, tensed his muscles, as the young woman took a deep breath….

…And uttered a hoarse squeak, barely audible even to herself.

Terrence grinned, flashing two rows of ugly, misshapen teeth. Smiling from ear to ear, the teen let loose with a low, raspy laugh of triumph. Well, so much for _that_.

* * *

Frankie's heart sank into her chest in utter despair. 

_No, please…oh God, no…not Mac…not Mac…_ She thought, slowly driving herself into a state of hysterical panic.

Not that _he_ could notice, or much less care. To the grungy teen before her, she was still as immobile and silent as a statue, as dangerous to him as a rotting tree stump. Inside, however, her mind had fallen into a state of anarchic chaos, a thousand thoughts whirling about at once. Gut-wrenching fear, unbearable misery, unfathomable hysteria, dozens of wild, far-fetched ideas on how to fend off her attacker, crushing disappointment, all of it further crippling the girl and making her all the more helpless to assist herself in this nightmarish plight.

Her options were miserably few. There was no use calling for help, unspeakable terror had incapacitated her ability to speak. Fighting for her life was another useless option; her condition was still sub-par at best, and paralyzing horror had all but stolen her ability for movement. Not to mention of course that Mac was still in her arms, thus if she tried to put up any struggle, he'd be in harm's way instantaneously. Quivering uncontrollably, Frankie hugged Mac and Bloo close to herself as she desperately tried to gather herself together, while all hope swiftly faded away before her very eyes.

_Don't lose it…keep your head together…save Mac…save Bloo…save-_

Suddenly, it came to her. It wasn't much, and her bodily control was minimal at best, but…

* * *

Terrence's advance came to a dead halt as the young woman made a sudden movement in the bed. Fully aware of her combat abilities, the teenager swiftly leapt back a few feet, jabbing the air with his blade. There was no way in hell she would catch him off guard this time, not even by…rolling over? 

Terrence rubbed his eyes briefly to make sure this wasn't some bizarre illusion. No, his vision wasn't deceiving him. Frankie had not sprung up into some threatening fighting stance, as he had thought moments before. The girl had just rolled herself over in the bed, back facing the ceiling as she huddled over the two small figures beneath her, dutifully shielding them with her own body. As soon as she had formed a protective shield over the pair, she immediately began to emit a chorus of the same, pitiful hoarse whines she had uttered before, desperately making a last-ditch attempt to alert the lanky friend that continued to doze nearby.

For a few moments, Terrence just stared dumbly at the queer spectacle. However, with a quick shake of his head, he quickly snapped himself out of it and continued his slow advance forward. Enough was enough, no more distractions. The opportunity was just too good to give up. The time for revenge was-

* * *

_Save Mac…Save Bloo…save them…save Mac…save…_

Frankie repeated to herself over and over in her mind, continuing to clasp the pair close to her body. All the while, she continued to strain her paralyzed throat muscles in one final, desperate attempt to wake up Wilt, or anyone for that matter. Shutting her eyes firmly, tightlyhugging the child and imaginary friend to her, she poured every ounce of strength she could muster in her pitiful state in trying to attract assistance.

The young woman knew that simply offering herself as a human shield was hardly a good solution, but she didn't care. Her own survival was the very last thing on her mind, every instinct Frankie possesed screamed at her to do nothing else but try and protect the boy and his imaginary friend, and she firmly intended to try anything she possibly could to do just so. Quaking wildly in her fright, Frankie focused on continuing her plethora of pitiful squeaks, waiting for the inevitable attack. Heart pumping like mad within her chest, the girl waited for the harsh touch of cold steel slicing into her flesh…

And waited…

And waited…

And waited…

Frankie opened her eyes, surprised that she and the little figures below her were still unharmed.

_What on earth is going on?_ She thought bewilderedly.

* * *

Terrence gritted his teeth fiercely, staining every muscle he had to take that one last step into stabbing range. 

_C'mon man…this is it…you can do it…they're all right there…Mac, that girl, the blob…you can do this…you can do this…you can…_

The teen's jaw dropped, letting his arms fall limply at his side as he realized the shocking truth.

_**I can't do this.** _

Staring dumbly at the helpless trio before him, Terrence desperately struggled to get his mind together. What had just happened? Only a few minutes ago, it seemed like nothing could possibly stop him. He was there and ready, Mac was absolutely helpless, that girl couldn't do a damn thing to fight him off…he wasn't going to have a more perfect opportunity before him in all his life.

But that was _before_ Frankie had made her last-ditch effort, using her own body as human shield.

Suddenly, all the vile rage, his bitter thirst for revenge, all the pent-up anger, all of those feelings suddenly seemed to evaporate from within the mulleted teen, swiftly draining from within to be replaced by sensations of the queerest befuddlement and dizzying confusion. Terrence no longer had the bloodthirsty urge to kill. All that he wanted to know now was…_why_?

He continued to stare blankly at the scene before him, desperately trying to work it out in his mind. Just what on earth was going on here? Why was this young woman so willing to sacrifice her own life for some child and his imaginary friend? She carried no relation to Mac at all. Hell, they didn't even know the other existed until a little under a year ago. So why were they even where they were now? Why was Frankie so bent on giving up everything in a clearly desperate attempt to save Mac? Come to think of it, why were they even together like this in the first place? Why did she even decide to take him under her wing a few months ago? More importantly, why did she obviously adopt the boy and take him under her care when it seemed like he had no other family? Just what in existence made this woman so eager to care for Mac like he was of her own flesh and blood?

That was when it hit Terrence like a thunderbolt. If that redhead cared for Mac so much, enough to make the boy part of her family…then what about _him_? Here _he_ was, the only blood relative the eight-year-old had left on the entire planet…and he was about to _kill_ the child as he lay unconscious in the arms of a badly-injured young woman. Kill Mac…his own flesh and blood…his own little brother…whom he was trying to _murder_…while some girl was willing to give up her own life for the boy…the boy he was trying to…

Terrence felt like his mind wanted to explode within his skull. The room seemed to spin as his reality was violently warped, as if the very laws of the universe had been altered. What was going on? It was as if a veil had been thrown from his eyes. Absolutely nothing was the way it had been mere minutes ago.

He was no longer poised to collect the retribution that was rightfully due to him.That seemed nothing more than a mere fantasy at the moment.

He was just some kid, in a hopsital room in the dead of night...and about to take the life of the only family had had left on this planet.

Everything he knew seemed to shatter before him.

_What am I doing?_

* * *

Frankie was badly startled by the sound of a knife clattering to the floor. She glanced up just in time to see Terrence saunter dazedly out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him without a sound.

* * *

"…Zzzzz-huh? What the-?" 

Wilt grunted confusedly as the sound of hysterical bawling launched him out of a dead sleep. Recognizing the voice within an instant, the lanky imaginary friend's eyes snapped open as he bolted upright out of his seat.

Immediately the sight of a very distraught Frankie greeted his vision, tears streaking down her cheeks as she sobbed uncontrollably, quivering like a lump of Jell-O in the middle of an earthquake. As the inconsolable girl cradled the still-unconscious Mac tightly to her chest, a now wide-awake Bloo rubbed her back in a hasty attempt to try and soothe her. The bewildered little blob shot Wilt a look of absolute confusion as he fervently struggled to calm the badly shaken girl.

"I just woke up…and she was just crying…I don't know what it's about, she won't …oh, please, Frankie, it'll be okay, it'll…yeah, I'm thinking maybe she had a really bad dream, but…I still don't know what…" He managed to stutter out, torn between telling all he knew about the bizarre situation and tending to Frankie.

Instinctively, Wilt darted over to her bedside and wrapped a skinny arm tightly around the hysterical girl, patting her back reassuringly as he whispered into her ear,

"Shh, it's okay Frankie, it's okay. We're here, there's no need to cry. Shhhh, it's gonna be alright, I promise."

Weeping freely, Frankie just buried her face into Wilt's shoulder, drenching his scarlet fur with her tears. She wanted so badly to tell them what just happened, the unbelievable turn of events that occurred before her very own eyes.

But once again, the words just wouldn't come out.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Feedback is always appreciated! 


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's notes: Hehhehheh… um, sorry? (ducks as readers throw rotten tomatoes) Yeah. I'm not going to waste time with excuses, other than I was busy. **

**So, here's (finally) chapter ten…**

* * *

Frankie sighed heavily as she absentmindedly signed the paper that the nurse had put before her. After one day in the hospital, she was being released. She handed back the clipboard, grabbed her new set of crutches, and clumsily hobbled over to the nearest elevator. 

She leaned on the cold metal bar around the interior of the elevator. Tapping her foot, she stared at the green marble floor. Mentally, she counted the floors as she traveled up.

_One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Six…_

The doors opened, and once she clambered out, almost immediately Wilt sprinted over to her with a big grin on his face.

"Wh-what? What happened?" Frankie said, hoping that it was good news.

"Mac…" Wilt whispered, panting. "He's awake!"

Frankie didn't even say one word to him in reply; within an instant she was speeding to Mac's room as fast as her crutches could take her. Within seconds she had arrived, and as she peered through the glass, she saw that the child had indeed regained consciousness, something Bloo apparently had learned earlier due to the fact he was now talking amiably to his best friend.

She gently nudged the door open and knocked with a slightly trembling hand. Immediately the little boy looked up and smiled. "Hey, Frankie!"

Bloo took this as his cue to leave, giving Frankie time alone to talk to Mac.

Mac was sitting up in the bed, wide-awake and completely conscious. Most of the machines and wires were gone. All that remained was a single IV, the oxygen tank connecting to the tube going to Mac's nose and a heart monitor eliciting rhythmic beeps that echoed throughout the room.

She felt her eyes well up with tears of joy as she limped in. "H-hi, pal…"

The young woman sat in one of the chairs next to the bed, gently taking Mac's small hand into her somewhat larger one. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. I'm just a little tired," Mac replied calmly, yawning for emphasis.

"Are you sure?" she only inquired fretfully with a worried frown. The child chuckled a little as she actually checked him over.

"Frankie, I'm absolutely fine! That thing over there is pain stuff, so I don't hurt as much." He pointed to the IV bag in an attempt to allay her concern. Satisfied, she ceased her fussing and paused before inquiring gently,

"So…did the doctor and Bloo fill you in?"

Mac nodded, yawning again. "Yup. I have asthma and Terrence disappeared. Are _you_ okay?"

Frankie couldn't help but laugh. "You're worried about _me_? Mac, you're the one who everyone is worried about…"

Mac grinned as she tousled his hair affectionately. Frankie noticed that although it wasn't a strong as his usual smile was, to her relief it also wasn't as weak as she expected.

"I'm glad you're okay, Mac. You really scared me… I don't know what I'd do if you had…"

She couldn't finish the sentence; the horrifying thought was too difficult to comprehend. The child frowned.

"I'm fine Frankie… I-I'm sorry for scaring you…" Mac whispered before abruptly trailing off.

She found no need to panic over this however; he only seemed to be drifting off to sleep. Frankie knew that his body needed to rest and heal after the whole ordeal. Not wishing to keep the weary child awake, she settled comfortably into her chair as she calmly watched Mac's head slowly fall back on the pillow, his eyelids following suit and drooping shut.

Suddenly, Frankie heard a faint beeping noise. Even glancing about wildly, she saw that the line on the heart monitor had gone flat. Foreseeing that something was horribly wrong, she pressed the call button with a panicked yelp. Almost immediately, a few frantic-looking doctors and nurses came in. In the chaos that followed a nurse forcibly pushed her out of the room.

"What's happening? W-what's happening to him? Please, please don't make me leave!" she screamed, turning heads. Just as she was forcibly ejected, Madame Foster and Mr. Herriman stepped out of the elevator nearby.

"My goodness, Miss Frances… What is troubling you? Master Wilt informed us downstairs that Master Mac is conscious… What ever are you upset about? Unless…" Mr. Herriman trailed off as soon as he spotted the panic written on her features.

Madame Foster took over, taking hold of the hand of her hysterical granddaughter. "What's wrong, dear?"

Frankie sobbed, "I-I'm not sure… They won't tell me. I-"

"Miss Foster?" A doctor called. Frankie hastily hobbled over to meet him.

"Y-yes?"

"I have to tell you about his condition-" he began before she cut him off.

"I thought…I-I thought he was getting better…" she whispered dumbly.

"He was," the doctor said, sighing. "But….just now, his heart stopped. Fortunately however, we were able to bring him back without much trouble."

"He…h-he what?" Frankie brushed away a tear. "Why… why did it happen?"

"We think it was because of a heart problem that's been there since he was born, but wasn't large enough to notice until a moment ago, when he went into shock because of his recent breathing problems and injuries. Because he's been having trouble breathing, it made the oxygen supply to his heart decrease. The condition is called congestive heart failure. His heart needs more oxygen than most people's. We're doing tests to be sure, but I'm sure my hypothesis is correct."

The shocked young woman nodded dumbly as she struggled to absorb the barrage of information at once. "But… what can we do?"

"Now that we've caught it, we can make sure that this doesn't happen for a while. His asthma is a problem, though- asthma and heart medications are not meant to be taken together. There is a special medicine for that, and it is fairly uncommon. We have to send away for it, and it might take a few weeks. Until then, he should lie low, and not get excited. The more oxygen his heart needs, the harder it will have to pump. The next time, he might not be so lucky; it might be a heart attack."

Frankie stared blankly at him. "H-how should he lie low?"

The doctor rested a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head sadly. "He'll have to stay bedridden."

"But he's only eight!" she protested. "He needs to run around and have fun and-"

"I know it will be hard for him," he responded before declaring firmly, "but it must be done to keep him alive until the medicine comes."

With that he promptly left her side, leaving the badly stunned young woman alone to mull over the horrific news. Finally though, after what felt like an eternity, realization of what just happened finally struck. Frankie managed to limp over to the nearby waiting room where she took a seat, buried her face in her hands, and cried.

She filled in Bloo and Wilt. The news came as a shock to both. Bloo turned a paler shade of azure before putting a blobby arm over his welling eyes.

Wilt whispered something to Bloo, who then nodded. Frankie watched as Bloo slowly let the tears roll down his face.

After a brief moment of silence, Bloo spoke. "Frankie," he said, "I-I can't lose him. Not n-now… after all we've been through…I-I couldn't go on, Frankie, I just couldn't, and…a-and…"

Frankie had never heard him speak so seriously. Too drained to even offer a few words of comfort, she simply gathered the distraught little imaginary friend into her arms and together they waited in painful silence.

* * *

It was an hour before the doctors let Bloo, Wilt, and Frankie back in Mac's room. 

He was unconscious once more, but the doctor said he was just asleep and that they shouldn't wake him up. The tests showed that the doctor was right; Mac had the heart condition since he was born.

She sat in one of the cold metal chairs; Bloo and Wilt followed seconds later. The room was eerily silent, except for the monotonous beep of the heart monitor. It was late afternoon, and the room was getting dark. The trio watched their friend by the light of the machines. Much to her dismay, Frankie noticed that his breathing was getting worse; it looked like it did when they brought him in originally.

She held his limp hand, wishing that it wasn't as cold.

Suddenly they heard a knock, and turned their heads to the door. A sheepish looking Connor stepped in.

"I heard that about the little guy… It's so sad…" he muttered.

"You must see this type of thing all the time, though," Frankie replied, quickly returning to her vigil.

"Well, I don't really know as much about the other cases as I do this one."

Frankie felt her face turn red with annoyance. "Why are you so interested in Mac and Terrence?" she snapped.

Connor was quiet for a moment. "I just, um… Well, Terrance lived with me for a while, so I'm kind of concerned. And when I found out about Mac, I… Anyway, it's a long story, see, I…"

The young woman's lips slowly began to curl into a snarl. Before the obvious tension could rise any further, Wilt seemed to suspect Frankie's irritated notions.

"Connor… I think it would be best if you two settle this later. Frankie, Bloo, and I have enough to worry about."

Noticing the dead serious look on the lanky imaginary friend's face, Connor left the room in a huff.

"There's something I don't like about that guy," Bloo muttered.

All of a sudden, they heard a groan from the bed. Frankie hurriedly reached over and began to stroke Mac's head. He seemed to be waking up, but it was taking an awfully long time.

"Mac… Mac…pal, wake up… Mac?" she whispered, feebly hoping that the encouragement would help.

Frankie felt the hot tears well up furiously in her eyes as she helplessly witnessed how heartbreakingly hard it was for the child to regain consciousness once more.

* * *

Mac could faintly hear a far-off voice telling him to wake up. Instinctively he tried to do so, but found it immediately to be a momentous task. Why was it so hard? God, why did it hurt so much? What had happened to him? 

He attempted to open his eyes. No luck. He tried again. Exhaustion filled his whole body. Mac ignored it, and decided to try one final time.

His eyes fluttered open, and his blurred vision became clear. Frankie's worried face loomed ahead of him.

"Hi, pal…" She whispered with a weak grin, relieved to see him conscious once more. "How are you feeling?"

Mac moaned. "Like… like a truck ran over me…" He swallowed. "What happened to me? I remember talking to you, and then…" he trailed off to a coughing fit.

Only then did he notice the concerned blob holding his hand, squeezing it tightly as he was forced to stand by and wait for the fit to subside.

"Mac… you… you…" Bloo whispered, clearly not possessing the strength to reveal the horrible truth of all he had learned.

Wilt, who seemed to be the calmest of them all, informed the boy of everything; the heart condition, how it would affect him, and the precautions that had to be taken.

"So… I'm really sick…" Mac muttered dejectedly. Frankie nodded, before abruptly bursting into tears. Sobbing uncontrollably, she swept him into a tight hug, and inadvertently agitated a few bruises.

"Ow…" Mac moaned, pulling his hand away from Bloo's and clutching his side.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" the mortified young woman sputtered, hastily withdrawing her arms. "I'm sorry! It's just that…well, in everything that's happened in the past hour or so, I…I kind of forgot that you were hurt to begin with, and…I-I…"

"That's okay," he whispered as she began to delicately stroke his head. "I guess I just better get used to it..."

* * *

Two days later, Mac was finally released from the hospital. 

"There's nothing more we can do for him," the doctor had said. "He'd be just as well off in his own bed at home, with a familiar atmosphere."

There hadn't been much change in his condition. His breathing had improved slightly, but it still was not at the same point it had been before. His heart hadn't acted up again, but it occasionally hurt for a moment or two. The doctor called this "angina", and pointed out that if it began to happen constantly, that they should get Mac to the hospital as soon as possible. However, he said an aspirin would help short-term angina.

They had given them a portable oxygen tank, as was used at the hospital, in case he had trouble breathing. The doctor said that they should use it if Mac's lips had a bluish cast to them.

The ride home seemed to go well; Mac didn't have any problems. However, it wasn't until he got up the stairs that he started coughing.

"Buddy, are you okay?" asked an extremely concerned Bloo as he paused on the staircase.

Mac took a few deep breaths and nodded. "I'm… I'm fine. Really."

Despite his objections, Bloo helped him the rest of the way to his room. Once there, the boy put his pajamas on and climbed into his bed, pulling the covers up.

"That walk from the foyer to my room never seemed so long…" he murmured to himself, just as Frankie hobbled in on her crutches.

"How are you feeling, pal?"

"A little out of breath," Mac whispered calmly.

The twenty-two-year-old's forehead furrowed with concern as she ruffled his hair gently. "Do you want us to set up your oxygen tank?"

"No," he replied. "I'm fine. Just…I'm just tired."

Frankie let herself relax a bit, although she was still clearly worried. "I'm going to get dinner started, but yell if you need me, okay?"

"Okay…" the child murmured. Frankie frowned and ruefully exited the room

"Do you want to play cards or something? Coco taught me how to play Poker last week, and I'm really good at it," Bloo inquired hopefully.

"Nah," Mac answered with a yawn. "I'm really tired, so I think I'm going to take a nap… Thanks, though…"

* * *

Most days followed the same pattern; Bloo loyally coming in to amuse Mac, along with several other imaginary friends. Mac seemed to be getting somewhat better, but Frankie didn't want to take any chances. 

The entire house meanwhile noticed a major change in the menu; more heart healthy food. Despite this, still Mac didn't eat much, much to the resident caretaker's constant worry.

One night, Frankie noticed that he hardly touched his dinner. "Are you feeling okay, pal?"

Mac shook his head. "Now… now that you mention it…" he trailed off, grimacing painfully.

"Oh jeez!" the young woman gasped, instinctively springing into action.

Frankie set up the oxygen tank, with the tubes going to Mac's nose, before positioning herself on the side of his bed, leaning awkwardly on one crutch.

"Any better?"

"A little. I feel a little dizzy…" His hand went to the collar of his pajamas.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" she said with bated breath. He didn't say anything, but only nodded weakly.

"Wilt? Wilt!" Frankie hollered. A moment later, the lanky friend appeared at the door.

"Frankie, what's-" He stopped when he glanced at Mac. "What happened? Is he feeling okay?"

"Wilt, get a glass of water and an aspirin right away." The caretaker demanded frantically, and like an arrow, Wilt shot off. Shortly later, the medicine had been successfully retrieved and Mac quickly settled himself back upon his pillows after taking it.

"Is it working?" Frankie asked as she hovered anxiously by his bedside.

Mac took a moment to answer. "Yeah, I think so….I'm really tired, though…"

Frankie put a hand to his forehead. "You feel a little warm… Wilt, can you get the thermometer?"

Wilt did as he was told, and Frankie took Mac's temperature. "Hmm… a hundred and one degrees…" she murmured, trying to appear calm as she read the results out loud. "You just rest, Mac… I'll be here…"

She sat herself upon the bed and began to ruffle his hair softly, while Mac promptly drifted off to sleep. Wilt was sent off again to fetch Bloo, who arrived almost immediately.

"Hey, Frankie! How's…" the azure blob noticed his sickly creator, and went silent.

"He's getting sicker, Bloo." Frankie murmured bluntly as she stroked the boy's head. "I hope they hurry up with that medication…."

Bloo took his place at Mac's side. "I know, it's already been a week… I-I hope he'll be okay. How bad is it now?"

Frankie put her hand back on Mac's forehead. To her dismay, it already felt noticeably warmer.

"Well… Let me put it this way," she replied, her voice quivering and thick with worry, "It's probably going to be a long night."

* * *

Frankie was correct. Mac's temperature went up to a hundred and three, and showed no prospect of lowering. 

It was nearly eleven o'clock when Mac woke up, moaning as he was beset by a case of the shivers. Despite her bulky cast impeding her, Frankie immediately fetched a few extra blankets for the ailing eight-year-old.

"Frankie… I don't… I don't feel well…" he whispered weakly as she tucked him in. She squeezed the feverish little boy's hand and cracked a wan smile.

"You're really sick, pal. Hang in there…you'll get through this…"

His breathing was disturbingly heavy. She sent Wilt to get a glass of cold water.

"Small sips… That's it, Mac… You'll be okay…" she continuously tried to reassure him, although she said it more or less to calm herself down than anything.

He slipped back into unconsciousness. Frankie quietly waited for a while, still holding his hand. She then took his temperature once more, and to her relief, it went down a degree.

In the next few hours, Mac bobbed in and out of consciousness, looking sicklier and utterly exhausted each time he awoke.

"Don't say anything, you gotta save your energy," she told him once as he lay awake for a bit in a feverish delirium, cradled gently in her lap. The stubbornly loyal Bloo remained unusually silent, holding his creator's hand throughout the long night, before finally falling asleep himself, right next to Mac.

Her water method seemed to be working, and his temperature fell to one hundred.

Several imaginary friends waited outside the door, waiting for any news on how the house's resident eight-year-old was. At about two in the morning, a knock at the door startled an extremely drowsy Frankie and forced her to get up from where she was sitting and tense up with alarm. Her grandmother and Mr. Herriman quietly came in the room, motioning for her to settle down.

"How's Master Mac?" the imaginary rabbit inquired his voice carrying an unusual quaver.

"Eduardo came and told us that he wasn't feeling well," her grandmother added kindly.

Frankie sighed heavily and paused to balance herself upon her crutches before answering. "He's one sick little boy, that's for sure. I think he's getting a little better, though; his fever's gone down a bit, and-"

The trio heard a moan from the bed. Madame Foster came over to his side and took his small, smooth hand into her wrinkled palm. Mac's eyes fluttered open partway, and she flashed him an encouraging grin.

"Hang on, boy… If I can make it to be as old as I am, I'm sure you can get through this."

The weak little boy gave her a weak smile before shutting his eyes settling into unconsciousness once more. The elderly lady set down Mac's limp hand, and turned to her granddaughter.

"You're right- the child's not looking well at all. But I have a hunch that he's going to make it for a while. You'll see." She motioned for Frankie to bend over so she could give her granddaughter a kiss on the cheek. "I think you're handling this very well, dearie. After all, this is only part of what's to come. But he'll pull through this, if you can."

She and her imaginary friend left the room, leaving a slightly confused young woman to ponder over these words.

Madame Foster was correct; Mac's condition would get better for the moment, but was sure to get worse if the medication didn't come soon. What really intrigued her, however, was when her grandmother had said before she left.

"_He'll pull through this, if you can." _

She chewed upon her lower lip as she mulled. What did the old woman mean?

Suddenly, Frankie knew. Madame Foster meant that if they were to get through this, she had to pull herself together emotionally and mentally if she was going to be there to support Mac.

She heard a feverish moan as the delirious eight-year-old stirred slightly. Instinctively she hobbled back to his bedside, nabbing a nearby washcloth she had been using earlier. As the ailing little boy mumbled something incoherent, Frankie tenderly wiped his sweaty brow as she hushed softly to try and soothe the sickly child.

After all, if she didn't encourage him, who would?

* * *

Morning had arrived, much to a certain caretaker's initial irk. The exhausted young woman cracked her eyelids open a bit as she slowly awoke, but shut them almost immediately as soon as the harsh morning sunlight assaulted her vision. Eliciting a loud groan, she rolled over in the bed a little as she strove to get her temporarily blurred thoughts into order. 

What was going on? It didn't feel like she was dressed in her nightgown or anything, which was rather odd. Wait…no, that was right, as she managed to remember; she never got ready for bed last night. But if that was the case, so what on earth caused her to-

Mac.

As soon as his name flashed through her mind, Frankie's eyes snapped open as she was jolted fully awake.

"Mac?" she inquired in a hoarse squeak, searching about wildly. Much to her utter horror, he was nowhere to be seen at first. Where was he? The boy was so deathly sick the night before, where in the world could he have-

The sounds of light whimpering and the feeling of something warm squirming slightly against her body quickly answered her question, putting an abrupt end to her brief but frantic search. The exhausted woman peered down and much to her heavy relief and slight embarrassment, she saw that the child lay snuggled safely in her own arms, of all places. Cracking a weak smile, Frankie tightened her squeeze on the sleeping eight-year-old and was awash with relief by the simple fact that they had all made it through the seemingly never-ending night.

Not only that, but his breathing appeared to be easier too, and his pallor was hardly the ghastly pale shade it had been last night. She felt his forehead and couldn't help but elicit a light giggle; there was barely a trace of fever to be found.

"Is he okay?" someone suddenly moaned groggily. Frankie looked about briefly and let loose with another brief chuckle; her memory of the last little bit of last night's episode was even worse than she thought. She couldn't remember how she ended up cradling the dozy azure blob too, much less realize that he had been right there the entire time.

Fortunately, by this point nothing was coming as a surprise to her, not even when she finally noticed the large hand resting limply upon her shoulder. She didn't need to turn her head to confirm that it was indeed Wilt dozing in the grossly undersized chair by the bedside; the familiar sound of the loyal imaginary friend's gentle snoring was more than enough confirm her suspicions.

As she yawned heavily, Bloo whimpered as he removed his face from where it had been buried in her sweater and struggled to keep his eyes open as they adjusted to the harsh glare.

"Mac…" he murmured sleepily. "Where's-" 

Frankie tittered as she gave him a brief reassuring nuzzle, to which the exhausted blob responded in turn by resuming his curled position against her. Together their eyelids seemed to droop in unison as they settled down to grab a few more hours of much-deserved rest.

"I..I-I think he's gonna be alright." Frankie murmured happily, coddling the pair close as she drifted off back to sleep. "Let's just hope this is gonna be as bad as it's gonna get…."

* * *

**Author's notes: I hope that longer chapter made up for the time that I didn't write… I definitely think that it was not the best chapter I've written, but it's done! Please review, and Dude13 will forward all reviews to me.**


	11. Chapter 11

_Clack!_

_Thud._

_Clack! _

_Thud._

_Clack! _

_Thud. _

Frankie gritted her teeth and groaned loudly as she hobbled down the hallway. Never in her life had she worn crutches, but already she was almost positive she would go completely insane if she had to listen to _that_ irritable racket every time she had to walk anywhere for the next month or so. Right from the beginning it had been a pain to her eardrums, and _now_ it was very much akin to the constant scraping of nails across a blackboard all throughout her waking hours.

And speaking of aggravating….

"Folding's all done!" a high-pitched voiced squeaked merrily, abruptly derailing the young woman's train of thought.

"EEEEK!"

As soon as she realized that a small, pigtailed little eight-year-old girl had seemingly materialized right before her, the badly-startled young woman emitted an astonished cry and stumbled a little in her shock, looking as if she was about to tumble to the floor in a heap.

"_Whoa_!"

Fortunately, the toothy-grinned child immediately sprung into action, grabbing hold of one of the young woman's crutches tightly and successfully stabilizing her after a few tense moments.

"Gotcha!" Goo trilled triumphantly, her ever-present smile growing a few inches in width. As soon as she caught her breath and realized she was still in one piece, Frankie shot the bubbly little figure a stern glare.

"Goo, _what_ did I say about sneaking up on me like that?" she demanded flatly with a scowl. "I _thought_ I told you-"

"You said I should never, ever, ever, ever surprise you, 'cuz it gets you all spooked out!" the child belted out gleefully in her uniquely effervescent manner, rocking upon her heels with her hands tucked behind her back. Immediately Frankie let out a long, aggravated groan.

"If you remember what I told you, then maybe can you _please_ tell me _why_ you keep doing it?" She growled, intensifying her glower twofold.

Goo just stared back at her blankly until her ridiculous smile promptly re-plastered itself back upon her face.

"I finished folding the laundry, Frankie!" she simply announced again in a joyful squeak, swelling out her chest in pride. Frankie tried to cast another fierce glare, but this attempt to chastise ended in utter failure, as she couldn't help but grin weakly at the goofy little girl.

"Well, I guess I can't argue with _that_." She muttered before continuing on her way, ruffling the child's hair affectionately as she hobbled by.

Even now, it was still a bit odd to the twenty-two-year-old how things had managed to work out. While dutifully returning to her chores as Resident Caretaker, Frankie had expected a lot more solitary time upon the job with the loss of her beloved "little helper" for an undefined amount of time, still strictly confined to his bed according to the doctor's wishes. Not like that was exactly an irksome issue, she herself wanted the ailing eight-year-old to be as safe and get as much rest as possible, especially after that nasty fever Mac was forced to endure a week or two ago. Mac hadn't fully recovered from the sickness of that night, but he was doing a lot better. He needed assistance to breathe every once and a while, but was all in all getting the rest he so desperately needed. Frankie recalled how short it had taken the feverish chills to overcome Mac's weak body, and wanted to be ready in case it happened again.

Fortunately for her, she had plenty of time to check up on him seeing as her return as the sole performer in house upkeep had in reality turned out to be one of the shortest stints she had undertaken in her life. As she remembered clearly, it had only lasted a little less than a few days before a certain child visiting her ailing best friend had noticed the blatant change in the routine of the house's workings. Right there on the spot Goo had promptly assigned herself the role of "Temporary Housekeep, Second Class", specified by her new shiny homemade badge composed of tinfoil and glitter, which the girl proudly sported now wherever she went about the Victorian mansion.

At first, Frankie didn't know what to make of the change, especially seeing as how she nearly had a heart-attack when the child had suddenly popped out of an oven the young woman was about to turn on. Thus, while yelling shrilly about how she was almost done giving the inside of the stove a good scrubbing, Goo very unofficially began her temporary stint as assistant caretaker. Since then, such queer occurrences had become the norm, much to the chagrin of the impeded redhead.

On the other hand though, despite the inevitable range of mishaps one gets with so eager an aide, Frankie did enjoy having the extra help around the house once again, and couldn't help but admit that at least the child was putting her boundless energy to good use.

"I got all the folding done, 'cuz I finished the rest of the laundry, too!" Goo explained happily as she impishly pranced about the hobbling young woman.

"That's good." Frankie complimented her gently in a low murmur as she doddered along.

"Yeah, see, at first I didn't think I was gonna get the laundry done, 'cuz I had all the smelly clothes in the washing machine, but then I saw we were all out of laundry detergent, so I was all like "oh no, how can I wash the stinky clothes without laundry detergent," but I got lucky because we actually _had_ detergent all along, and I was all 'oooh, this is great, no more yucky filthy clothes for us' but thing was it was hidden under a pile of dirty, dirty sheets and so to find it I-" The little girl prattled on, babbling out her story faster then water gushing from a broken faucet.

"Goo, why don't you go play or something?" Frankie gently cut her off, trying to silence the girl's incessant chattering. Goo only beamed brighter than ever as she shook her head furiously.

"Nuh-uh! No thanks! _You_ might need help with more stuff!" she countered happily, jabbing a finger at the impeded caretaker.

Now, while Frankie couldn't lie that in her current condition any assistance was a valuable asset, she also had to admit that it was a bit embarrassing that she now had to rely so heavily upon a very hyperactive eight-year-old little girl to help her complete her daily duties.

"Um, I think I'll be fine on my own for a little bit." Frankie lied, as if trying to prove her own worth to her unofficial helper.

"No it's okay! I can help! I can help!" Goo only squealed with glee, enthused by the prospect of more odd jobs to assist the young woman with.

"No, really, I think I can-"

"What do you want me to do? Water the plants outside again? Mop a hallway? Ooooh, how 'bout I go and sweep the-"

"Goo, please!" The caretaker grumbled exasperatedly as she limped along. "C'mon, can I at least try something on my own for once without you breathing down my neck? I just-_AUGH_!"

No sooner had she finished this snide comment, Frankie tripped on a patch of carpet and bumbled forward a little bit, waving her crutches wildly in the air as she awkwardly hopped about on one foot, unable to stop. Stumbling about helplessly, it only took less than a moment for her to realize the true possible danger she was in when as soon as she saw that she was currently situated right at the summit of a nearby staircase. With a yelp of terror she tottered wildly on the top step for a few moments, began to fall forward-

And immediately went no further, teetering dangerously on her one good leg and just barely rescued from a nasty fall, due of course to the quick actions of a certain overactive little girl. Goo flashed Frankie yet another triumphant grin as she held on tightly to the redhead's emerald sweater, anchoring the young woman against the top of the staircase and thus preventing what would have no doubt been an utter calamity.

"Gotcha again!" The child squealed in delight, as if instead of an atrocious near-accident, the whole incident was merely part of some wonderful never-ending game.

Furiously blushing a fine shade of scarlet, Frankie murmured a few hasty words of gratitude and thus allowed herself to be pulled back from the edge of disaster by the little girl. Once back on firm footing, the caretaker promptly resumed her march, her self-proclaimed assistant meanwhile happily skipping about by her side, humming a willy-nilly tune she composed while she pranced about by the twenty-two-year-old's side. Finally, after much longer than Frankie would've liked, the pair finally managed to arrive at their destination.

"Okay, Bloo, time to go!" The caretaker announced flatly as she nudged the door open, allowing her to hobble into the sunlit bedroom. Immediately her declaration was met with a piteous whine of protest.

"Awww, do we have to?" the little blob argued unhappily, turning to face her from where he had been playing cards with his bedridden creator.

"Hiiiiiiiiii Mac!" Goo squealed happily as she bounded into the room, abruptly interrupting the conversation. Upon seeing his friend enter, the slightly pale-faced little boy beamed joyfully and struggled to sit up in bed a little, waving furiously in warm greeting.

"Hey, Goo! Hey, Frankie!" he chirped in a hoarse but nevertheless jubilant tone.

"Yes Bloo, we _have_ to." Frankie continued dutifully as she waved absentmindedly, never skipping a beat as she persistently reminded the badly perturbed little imaginary friend. "I specifically told you last night that today was gonna be the day, the doctor scheduled this before we even got out of the hospital, remember?"

"But…But I don't wanna…." Bloo whimpered, frowning unhappily as he shot a sideways glance at his best friend. Upon seeing the woe and reluctance stamped upon the little imaginary friend's features, Frankie managed a little smile and softened her tone slightly.

"C'mon, we gotta get those stitches out sometime, don't we?" she asked gently, pointing to the bandage still adorning the top of the little fellow's gelatinous head. Bloo rubbed his dressing ruefully, still blatantly unwilling to simply up and leave his creator, even for matters concerning his own welfare. Glancing at her, then at Mac, and then repeating the process again probably more times than was really necessary, he let out a small but audible whine.

Rather than raise her voice or shoot him a fierce warning glare, Frankie pursed her lips as her reassuring grin flipped itself into a sympathetic frown. She could understand his unwillingness to leave. He had already spent most of his time with the boy when Mac was first brought home. However, ever since that tragically long night when the child took a temporary turn of the worse, the little imaginary friend now barely left his friend's bedside except for the occasional bathroom break, all out of the deepest concern for his ailing creator. Even mealtimes couldn't deter Bloo to do otherwise; he only ate what was served to him up here with Mac.

"We'll only be gone a few hours, the appointment won't take very long." The young woman explained, flashing another encouraging smile and continuing to talk in the same hushed tone, as if talking to a wary toddler. Even despite this though, the little imaginary friend still cut the perfect picture of abject misery.

"I dunno…." He muttered, still horribly torn on the matter.

"Go ahead, Bloo." Mac finally whispered with a comforting nod, fumbling a little to sit up in his bed again. "Frankie _said_ it's not gonna take very long."

Finally, after this simple laconic reassurance from his creator, the little blob finally clambered off the bed and trudged unwillingly towards the door, although not without stopping to give Frankie one last pleading glance.

"You _sure_ it won't take long?" he whined, flashing her a pair of puppy-dog eyes. The redhead chuckled and gave him a soft pat on the head.

"Just go out into the hallway for now and wait for me there, 'kay?"

"Okay…" he muttered, trudging off extremely reluctantly, like a condemned prisoner being forcibly marched off to the gallows. "Bye, Mac"

"Bye Bloo! Don't worry, I'll be fine!" his creator called out cheerfully, getting a wan smile out of the azure blob.

"Doctor's appointment? Oooooh! Y'want me to come too?" Goo asked excitedly, grabbing hold of Frankie's sweater and bouncing up and down gleefully. "I can help! I can help you get on and off the bus! No, no, wait, even better! Listen, listen, listen! If you really need me to, I could take the steering wheel, work the pedals, y'know my uncle took me to a go-cart track last summer so I think I could actually-"

"No, no, no need for that." Frankie laughed, gingerly prying the little girl's fingers free from her garment. "I think I'll be able to drive just fine on my own."

"Oh….okay…." she replied softly, sounding a little bit disappointed. The young woman shook with mirth at the dejection in the child's eyes, knowing very well that she _would've_ actually tried to drive the Foster's bus on her own if she were asked to.

"How about this, though?" The crafty caretaker suggested with a grin. "How about you stay here and look after Mac for me, and then when we get back you can help me get dinner started, okay?"

Upon hearing this warm invitation to assist, the little girl's demeanor improved immediately. "Really?"

"I promise. Just make sure Mac's okay while we're gone, got it?"

"Okay!" she chirped contentedly in agreement, whirling about and skipping over to her friend's bedside, eagerly gathering up the playing cards that lay scattered upon the sheets.

"Whatcha playin', Mac? Go-Fish? Old Maid? Ooooh, how about…"

"I guess I'll see you later, Frankie." The eight-year-old whispered his simple adieu to the redhead, giving her a weak little wave and a warm smile. Gazing back affectionately, Frankie promptly hobbled over back to his bedside and managed to sit herself upon the mattress.

"You be good while I'm gone, okay? It won't be long, I promise." She whispered in gentle reassurance, planting a quick peck on his forehead. Mac was all smiles as he reached up to wrap his little arms around her neck in a quick good-bye hug in turn.

"Got it!" He laughed as the young woman enveloped a slender arm about him to return the hug, although she was extra mindful of making sure her squeeze wasn't too tight for the already severely infirm child.

"You two be good now, okay? Just one or two hours, I promise!" she pledged one final time.

"Okay, Frankie!" the duo chorused in reply before starting up a round of Go-Fish. Smiling warmly at the picturesque scene before her, the twenty-two-year-old pivoted about on her crutches and exited the room, shutting the door gently behind her.

"Still don't see why we have to go…" Bloo murmured ruefully as he stood in the hallway, blobby appendages folded in a huff and his mouth curved into a noticeable scowl. Frankie just laughed a little as she gave him a gentle nudge to get him going.

"Oh, hush up, you. It's just a quick doctor's appointment. We'll be in and out before you know it. I've got my phone with me, so we'll know if something happens." She announced optimistically, praying that nothing would happen to make her use it. "C'mon, what can possibly happen while we're gone?"

* * *

The children's game was interrupted by a soft knock upon the door, causing the pair to glance up simultaneously with a start.

"Oops, sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Wilt apologized immediately for his transgression as he peered into the room. "I didn't mean to surprise you like that, I'm sorry! I just wanted to check on make sure that you were okay, honest! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Quickly recovering her shock, the irrepressible Goo cracked a wry grin at the lanky imaginary friend as she passed her friend a playful wink.

"Actually, the joke's on _you_! _We_ were actually waiting for you to come in so we could finally throw you your surprise party. Happy Birthday, Wilt!" she teased playfully.

The gentle-natured creature cocked his head, confused.

"Wait, you're…hold on, what?"

As the duo burst out into a mad fit of the giggles, Wilt sighed and rolled his good eye, although he couldn't help but manage a smile.

"Ha ha, very funny you guys." He remarked sarcastically with a laugh. "Yeah, yeah, you threw me off there for a second, nice try. C'mon, knock it off you two. Hey, hey knock it off! Make sure that – oh _no_!" he gasped in horror at the sight that fell before him.

It had all been too much for Mac to handle in his already weakened state, and it wasn't too long before his peals of laughter transformed into a series of severe, hacking coughs. Not one to be distraught by this change in state, Goo immediately slid over on the mattress and began to pat her friend's back gently in an attempt to correct his breathing.

"C'mon, Mac. Easy does it. Just calm down, ease off a little, okay? Do you want me to get you a glass of…of…?"

She frowned in deep concern as his condition suddenly seemed to take an instantaneous turn for the worse. Although the coughing had been stopped, his breathing clearly far from normal again. Sitting up in bed, Mac gasped for air in short, shallow breaths.

"Mac?" Goo whimpered worriedly, still trying to pat his back in a futile attempt to calm him down. "Mac, you okay?"

However, any such questioning was entirely in vain, as it was blatantly clear something was horribly off. The boy's breathing became quickly grew shorter and much more ragged, and he struggled furiously to gulp in any air he could.

"M-Mac?" Goo inquired in a hoarse squeak, still trying to do whatever she could in the face of a clear oncoming catastrophe. "Mac, are you gonna be-"

As the eight-year-old cried out and reached for his chest, the little girl shrieked in horror as her friend began to fight for his life before his very eyes. Joining along with Goo, an uncontainable yelp of shock escaped from Wilt's throat, and instinctively he bounded forward to the side of the stricken child.

"Mac? Mac, what's wrong? Mac? Mac? _MAC_!"

* * *

Bloo whined softly as he spotted the large road sign clearly stating that they were officially exiting town. Noticing his discomfort, Frankie glanced up concernedly through the rear view mirror at the miserable little imaginary friend.

"You okay?" she inquired gently.

"I just don't see why we gotta go so far…" he murmured ruefully. The lanky redhead sighed heavily as she refocused her attention back on the road. She hadn't had any trouble driving before with her cast, but the gray sky had her nervous about rain. Frankie had never been good with breaks in the rain, but she didn't know how well she'd drive with her cast. Hopefully it would pass.

"I told you before Bloo, the doctor who took care of your stitches has his private offices in the next town over. Don't you remember?" she clucked like a fussy mother hen. "Look, I wish he was stationed at the hospital today as much as you do, but things can't always work out exactly like we'd want them to."

Bloo only moaned unhappily as he pressed his face up against the window. A drizzling rain sprinkled down from the sky, which seemed to dim even more as Bloo became even more apprehensive.

"Mac…" he whispered, fidgeting about uneasily in his seat. Frankie rolled her eyes as she turned the steering wheel for a quick turn.

"Cut the theatrics, will ya? We're hardly gonna be there very long, they'll have you all set in just a little bit, maybe half-an-hour, probably forty-five minutes at the most." She reassured him, though blatantly not as gently as she could. "Honestly, when we're all done we're probably going to have spent more time driving to and from the doctor's office then we did at the actual appointment."

"But-"

"We'll on our way back home in just an hour, Bloo, don't worry." Frankie emphasized resolutely. "Trust me, _nothing's_ going to happen to Mac while we're gone."

"Promise?" Bloo whined hopefully. Frankie craned her neck briefly to flash him a warm smile, although slightly irritated as the drizzle transformed into steady raindrops beating down upon the Foster's bus.

"Don't worry, I promise."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's notes: I'm trying to get back in the habit of writing on a schedule again, so here's the next chapter!**

* * *

Mac limply fell back upon his bed, utterly motionless. For a few agonizing moments, a dumbstruck Wilt and Goo just stared blankly, completely unsure of what to do.

Goo's eyes widened in horror as she finally realized that her unconscious friend wasn't breathing. Without thinking twice, she clambered up onto the mattress and without much ado, began to push up and down furiously upon the boy's chest. After the first few tries of her hasty attempt at first aid, she noticed much to her dismay that there was no change Mac's condition. Eliciting a hoarse squeak, she looked up at Wilt, who seemed terribly confused.

Flustered, he gasped, "Goo, _what_ are you doing?"

With the strength borne of desperate determination, she tried one last time. To her relief, Mac started to breathe again, although the rising of his chest was barely noticeable.

"CPR!" the girl quickly replied, as if it was the most common thing in the world.

Wilt was still horribly befuddled, not to mention still terribly stunned by Mac's abrupt turn for the worse.

"_Why_ would a little girl know CPR? And _where_ did you learn it?" he yelped, absolutely perplexed.

Goo shrugged. "Girl Scouts. You know, that First Aid stuff was _really_ boring. They had a nurse come in and show us all this stuff, and she had this really super annoying voice that reminded me of a llama. Yeah, I remember, 'cause she even looked like one, too, with that long neck, and those really shaggy bangs! Yuck. I mean, I like llamas and all, but not weirdoes who actually really look like llamas, especially not kooky ol' llama-nurses, and-"

As she slipped into an uncontrollable prattle, Wilt hastily reached over and took Mac's pulse. It was eerily faint and irregular.

"Something's wrong, Goo," he gasped in mortified horror, cutting her off.

"You think?" Goo squeaked impatiently, rising from where she was positioned near Mac, as if Wilt was the one wasting precious moments. Immediately she sprinted helter-skelter out of the room and bolted turned down the grand staircase, stumbling a little, but never losing her footing.

Dashing to the kitchen, she was relieved to find Mr. Herriman reaching for an afternoon snack.

"Phone! Phone! Phone!" she squealed frantically as she skidded in. "_Where's_ the phone? Phone! Phone! We need a phone!"

The large rabbit, without taking his eyes off of his plate of carrot sticks, replied, "On the counter, Miss Goo where it's always been. Please calm down, child, why may I ask…"

He finally turned around and went silent as soon as he noticed the child's ghastly pallor.

"…Miss Goo?" he sputtered worriedly.

"Mac! It's Mac! Something's wrong and we really really really need to gotta call 911!" She yelped, bouncing about madly. "We're not sure what happened, but….but he stopped breathin' for a bit an' stuff!"

Mr. Herriman gasped. "Oh Lord, is the child okay?"

"Uh-uh! Mr. H, I think somethin's _really_ wrong…'

"I should say so…"

Grabbing the phone, Goo immediately called 911. She told the operator what had happened, but became frustrated when she had to repeat herself a few times because she was talking much faster than usual, even for an incessant babbler such as herself.

"They're on their way…" she said to the rabbit as she finally hung up the phone.

The rabbit sighed heavily as he rested a hand on her shoulder. "Miss Goo, we've done all we can. It's time for them to take over."

The girl pursed her lips shut and just nodded sorrowfully, knowing that unfortunately, the authoritarian imaginary friend was correct.

* * *

A short time later, Goo stood rocking back and forth on her heels anxiously at the foot of the stairs as she waited for the paramedics to come down the staircase with her ailing friend. Imaginary friends from around the house waited by the rails on either side for them as well. Finally, the paramedics, dressed in white, carefully bore the stretcher holding the unconscious boy down the staircase, with Wilt following. Goo instinctively raced up the stairs towards the lanky imaginary friend.

"Wilt!" she sputtered, nabbing hold of his arm. "I _hate_ ambulances. Mac does too, 'cause he told me once and-"

"Goo, please, this really isn't-"

"-He'll be okay, won't he Wilt? 'Cause he's Mac, and he's got Bloo to look out for, and Frankie-"

By the look on Wilt's face, Goo knew that she had said something wrong, and instinctively she hushed herself up. The lanky imaginary friend seemed to be in a state of shock.

How would they break to Frankie that in her absence, the complete unthinkable had happened?

He struggled furiously to try and sort his chaotic thoughts as he plodded across the foyer. The carved oaken doors at the main entrance were beautiful, but they didn't seem so at the moment. They opened, and the residents saw a flashing ambulance through pouring rain.

As Wilt passed them, each resident president seemed to follow, assembling a bizarre sort of procession exiting the house.

* * *

It was torrential rain now. Frankie almost missed the exit to the doctor's office because she could barely see out the windshield.

She heard a small whimper from behind her. She looked in the rear view mirror to see a very forlorn Bloo. The stitches on his head wouldn't have been noticeable if it had not been for the bandage covering it, for the doctor had been an idiot (in her opinion) and used blue to stitch up the cut. Frankie knew that the appointment might take awhile because it would blend into the imaginary friend's skin, but she didn't want to tell Bloo; he wanted to get back to Mac as soon as humanly possible.

She focused her attention back on the treacherously slippery road, and she pulled into the practice.

"Here we are," she announced dutifully as she picked up her crutches and hobbled out of the Foster's bus.

Bloo just emitted an irked huff as he walked into the doctor's office, barely even acknowledging the heavy rain that pelted them mercilessly on the way in.

Once they were inside, and after everything had been cleared with the receptionist. Frankie sat in the waiting room as Bloo was led into the office by a nurse. Lounging comfortably in her seat, the redhead reached for a nearby magazine and began to flip through it idly, letting her mind wander aimlessly without a concern in the world.

* * *

Wilt sat in the waiting room, alone. Mr. Herriman was supposed to come later, but he was "otherwise detained at the moment", whatever that meant. Goo had suddenly changed her mind and had wanted desperately to stay and ride in the ambulance with Mac and Wilt, but her parents had seen the sirens from where they lived. They had arrived on the scene just in time to refuse to let her go. Wilt had looked on helplessly as her mother dragged a kicking and screaming Goo away from her ill friend. It was only when Wilt promised to call with any updates that the heartbroken girl regrettably surrendered to her now furious mother.

However, depressing as that earlier spectacle had been, that was the last thing on his mind at the moment. Oh God, how would he tell Frankie? He had already decided to wait until he knew exactly what had gone wrong with Mac. He had already been sitting in painful ignorance of the boy's condition for an agonizingly long time…

The waiting room near the E.R. was huge; filled with sobbing mothers and fathers, imaginary friends waiting for any news about their child, and other sad cases. Wilt miserably wondered how Frankie would react when she knew as he sat uncomfortably in the terribly undersized chair. Struggling to force such horrible thoughts from his mind, he tried to distract himself by skimming through a woefully dilapidated magazine, but he hastily deposed of it when he sadly realized it was all of little use.

Finally, a solemn-looking doctor came out and wearily plodded over to the lanky imaginary friend.

"He had an asthma attack, which triggered a heart attack," the physician told a very shaken Wilt. "Either one is bad on its own, but together can prove to be fatal. Heart attacks are serious depending on how much muscle in the heart is destroyed. And unfortunately for this case, because of the lack of oxygen going through his body, Mac's condition is serious."

Wilt shot up from where he sat in his uncomfortably undersized chair, banging his head on the short ceiling in the process. While grimacing in pain, he struggled furiously to try to gather all the cold hard facts of the situation.

"But…he'll be okay though, right? You fixed it, didn't you? He can go home soon?" he began to stammer hopefully in blind optimism.

The doctor shook his head remorsefully. "His heart is too damaged to function properly for long. The only way to possibly keep him alive is a transplant, and it's too late for the tests and assessments needed to make sure that his body won't reject it."

The ashen-faced Wilt was temporarily stunned mute as he tried to process the terrible news.

"So he.. h-he's gonna…" he trailed off, unable to comprehend the bitter truth.

"Yes," the physician sadly affirmed the very worst, "the child is dying."

Wilt collapsed back into the chair and covered his mouth with his hand, unable to comprehend the horrendous reality of the situation. Suddenly, something occurred to him.

"_Wait_! But… Frankie's not here, and-"

"In his legal guardian's absence, their imaginary friend will have to make the decisions about the boy's health. That means you, I guess."

Shocked by the sudden responsibility thrust onto him, the lofty imaginary friend sputtered, "So _I_ decide whether Mac lives or dies?"

The doctor nodded weakly. "If the time comes."

"…So, what will happen?"

"The boy's still unconscious, but he'll probably wake up sometime in the next few hours. However, he'll be very weak. After a while, he'll fall into cardiac arrest. We can try to bring him back, or we can let him go. It's your decision, if the time comes."

Wilt groaned; this was all happening so fast. "How long will it be until… until… until he…?"

The doctor shrugged. "Anywhere from a few hours to a day or so. Whoever gave him CPR was on the ball, but so much of the muscle in his heart was destroyed that I think that a few hours is all we have."

Wilt made a mental note to thank Goo. The two were silent for a moment.

"C-can I… Can I s-see him?" the gangly imaginary friend inquired softly. The doctor nodded, and motioned for the imaginary friend to come into a small ICU room nearby.

"There's a phone in here if you need to call anyone," the doctor stated, before exiting to make his rounds.

Wilt put his head in his hands as he glanced at the unconscious little boy in the bed with all the wires, monitors, and IVs connected to him. He had both the breathing tubes and an oxygen mask on, which puzzled the imaginary friend. Before, Mac only had an oxygen mask on in an ambulance or when there was an emergency. Why did he have it on now?

Then it hit him. This _was_ an emergency. Mac needed it to breathe. It wasn't as simple as it had been a few hours before, when Mac was just bedridden and prone to asthma and angina.

Mac was _dying_.

His thoughts were interrupted as Mr. Herriman and Madame Foster came in. He related the information about Mac's condition to the two, and told them about his unfortunate responsibilities until Frankie arrived, much to the pair's shared mortified dismay.

"But…but Miss Frances should turn up soon, should she not?" A horrified Mr. Herriman inquired.

Madame Foster shook he head sadly and replied, "Look at the storm, Herriman. They might be some time until they get-"

The old woman paused for a moment as a particular thought crossed her mind. "Frankie and Bloo _do_ know….don't they, Wilt?" she whispered softly.

Wilt shook his head and elicited a sad groan, much to the silent dismay of the others. He completely forgot about Bloo, yet another heart to be broken by the awful revelation.

It was definitely time to call them. But who should make the call? Mr. Herriman would break the news harshly and without much sympathy ("Miss Frances, I regret to inform you that…"). Madame Foster would sugarcoat it or say the wrong thing, in her usual fashion.

It was up to him. After all, he _was_ Frankie's imaginary friend.

"Madame Foster, I'll tell her," he whispered hoarsely.

Madame Foster glanced up, looking slightly puzzled. "What's that, dearie?"

"I'll tell Frankie about Mac. You know….that Mac's…dying and all."

* * *

**Author's notes: I think I could have written that chapter a little better, or ended it a little gentler or something. But, I tried… So, please review!**

**-Marty :-D **


	13. Chapter 13

I know things look grim, but trust us, this is _not_ the end...not by a long shot.

* * *

The torrential downpour pounded the earth, drenching everything and everyone unlucky enough to be caught in such atrocious weather. Ice-cold rain cascaded down in heavy sheets, as if God himself had opened the floodgates of heaven to unleash unimaginable havoc upon the world.

However, the simple fact that he was soaked to the bone was the very last thing on the mind of a particularly grungy-looking teen as he plodded down the sidewalk, doddering along like a wounded soldier returning from the front. For all Terrence cared, Noah's Ark could've floated by down the road, and he wouldn't have even done so much as bat an eyelid. Instead, the just boy wandered aimlessly down the street, staring blankly ahead into nothingness as the rain mercilessly poured down from the sky. Blowing a few sodden strands of raven-black hair from his eyes, Terrence shivered a little and tried to zip up his woefully ragged jacket a little tighter, but hastily gave up after a pitiful amount of effort. It didn't really matter at the moment anyway, he couldn't be any wetter had he just dived into a swimming pool. Heaving a deep sigh, the teen wiped some excess rain from his eyes and wearily continued on.

Whatever destination he was headed towards, Terrence hadn't so much as so much as a vague semblance of an idea. But then again, such foggy uncertainty was unfortunately the very best he could do, considering his pathetic state of mind at the moment. He felt that he had to struggle enough as it was to comprehend his basic needs throughout every agonizingly long day; the need to scrounge up food, the necessity of finding shelter every night, the starkest essentials of living.

Besides this miserably bare minimum, everything else was just an unbelievably painful blur, a chaotic muddle that was simply too agonizingly excruciating and unimaginably colossal for him to even start to comprehend. Never mind the fact that he had awoken from a tremendous bout of amnesia, only to realize that his old life, as he had known it had been stolen away in one horrific catastrophe. He also could've cared less about his grandiose scheme to try and pin the cause of it all on the last remaining link to that long-gone time, that forgotten paradise where he had both a mother and a home. The bloodthirsty desire for revenge, the seething rage, the fact that he had endured all of that, and more, to him it was all but a mere trifle at the moment.

The simple realization that he had been struggling to try and kill his own brother had been more than enough to nearly push him over the bounds of sanity.

There was little need to say more, that crushing truth alone was already far too much for him to bear. Now, the teenager lived on his own, getting by day to day in more or less a constant daze of sorts. He hadn't been able to understand a thing during that crucial moment inn the hospital that fateful night, and that horrendous confusion more or less plagued him to that very day.

At least one thing seemed remotely clear to him. His mother was dead, and the fact that he tried to blame that painful reality on his one remaining blood relative made it clear he couldn't turn to those who now cared for his little brother, wherever they were now. So, it seemed for the best that he live like this out on the streets, a broken husk of a soul struggling to get what little bit of rationality he possessed in order.

It was for these reasons that he didn't even notice a certain lanky redhead and her blobbish companion enter out onto the street.

* * *

"…Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Frankie playfully teased the little imaginary friend while nudging him gently with one of her crutches. Bloo groaned irritably and glanced away from the pelting rain to glare pleadingly at the caretaker in the manner of a cranky toddler.

"Can we _please_ go home now?" he whined as he impatiently tugged at her skirt. Frankie laughed warmly and flashed a reassuring smile.

"Yup. Now, when I say go, we head on over to the bus as fast as we can so we don't get too wet, okay?"

"Okay!" Bloo piped up eagerly, poising himself in the doorway in preparation for the mad dash through the downpour.

"Ready?" Frankie chuckled as she took her stance.

"Ready!" he replied eagerly.

"And….._go_!"

With a wild whoop, Bloo hurtled out into the torrential rain, sprinting through the hailing sheets of water and dodging expertly around a plethora of puddles differing in size and shape. Within moments, he had completed the distance and was eagerly plodding up into the Foster's bus.

"Okay, let's go!" he yelped happily, shaking off the droplets coating his skin before plopping down onto a nearby seat. When he realized he had received no reply, the little blob simply relaxed himself and waited patiently, figuring Frankie would take a little longer due to her leg but would nevertheless arrive in from the storm within a few seconds.

As soon as those few seconds transformed into a good minute or so, Bloo instantly sensed that something was terribly amiss. Fearing that the caretaker had stumbled in her furious sprint and now lay helpless in the midst of the unforgiving weather, he bolted from his seat and tumbled back out into the icy cold rain, glancing about frantically though the deluge.

"Frankie?" he cried worriedly, furiously trying to wipe away the rainwater that constantly obscured his vision. "Frankie, where are-"

A flash of crimson caught the corner of his eye, and it was then that he managed to spot her, halfway to the bus and standing completely motionless in the harsh shower. Upon sight, Bloo was struck speechless by her sudden extraordinarily erratic behavior. Frankie didn't even seem to realize that she was rapidly becoming soaked to the bone as she balanced so carefully upon her crutches she could've been easily mistaken for an exhibit in a wax museum. Notwithstanding the atrocious weather, she remained where she stood, staring wide-eyed into the distance with her jaw dangling agape in her extreme shock.

At first, the massively baffled Bloo just stared at her dumbly, unable to make neither heads nor tails of Frankie's enigmatic change in demeanor. That is, until he himself laid eyes about the scraggly raven-haired figure standing not too far off, thus nearly causing the little blob to collapse in a dead faint.

Terrence himself had just personally noticed the two all-too-familiar figures, and for a moment he just stood frozen in place, barely able to comprehend their identities and the sheer fact that they had managed to cross paths. Unfortunately, that was as far as the stunned teenager could get, right before-

"_YOU_!" Frankie shrieked furiously at the top of her lungs, like a scarlet hawk screeching its battle cry while it prepared to strike. As twin infernos suddenly began to blaze in her eyes, all previous shock rapidly drained away to make room for a surging eruption of volcanic rage of the likes which had never been seen before.

And just as it had begun, the transformation into a living mass of pure unadulterated rage was complete, or so Terrence assumed as he suddenly received the full brunt of her terrible wrath.

"_OOF_!" The boy grunted in agony as his world exploded into pain. Wasting no time, Frankie had hefted one of her crutches and with the strength born of awesome fury, she hurled it as hard as she could, scoring a direct hit into the boy's gut. As if a freight train had rammed him head on, Terrence was immediately sent hurtling backwards, landing hard upon the wet sidewalk with a soggy _splat_.

Before the badly dazed teenager could do so much as realize that he now lay sprawled upon the ground, Frankie was upon him in a flash. With an enraged scream, the lanky redhead easily hefted him up by his jacket collar and forcibly slammed him into the wall of the closest building, easily pinning him up against the sodden red brick. Despite the excruciating jolts of pain that tore through his body, Terrence didn't even do so much as elicit a pitiful whimper in his gut-wrenching fright; the fact that the flaming red tint now adorning Frankie's face practically matched her fiery crimson hair temporarily stole away his ability to speak. The boy's heart pounded like mad deep within his chest, thudding so hard it seemed like it was only seconds away from bursting clear from his chest in his blind terror.

"YOU BASTARD!" Frankie shrieked, resembling some avenging fiery demon that had escaped from the deepest depths of hell. As she held him firmly in an unbreakable vice-grip, Terrence elicited a hoarse squeak of terror and instinctively reached up to try and wrench himself free. Alas, it was like attempting to bend a steel beam in half, the boy remained helplessly in place and completely at her mercy.

Unfortunately, "mercy" or any semblance of it was the very last thing Frankie wanted for him at that moment.

"You dirty son of a bitch! Filthy scumbag! You goddamn monster! No-good piece of shit!" She screamed as loudly as she could, nearly straining her lungs in the process. The young woman swore uncontrollably, the venomous curses rolling of her tongue faster than bullets firing from a submachine gun. Frankie's dark rage had reached an unprecedented rate by this point, seeing as a stone gargoyle couldn't match her fierce grimace or that the pelting rain was close to evaporating upon contact with her boiling crimson features. One look into the fire blazing in her eyes and it was life staring death itself straight in the face. Practically hysterical with fright, Terrence emitted a few more hoarse squeaks as he struggled feebly in vain to try and tear himself free, scrabbling uselessly at the young woman's tightly clenched fists.

"Bastard!" Frankie hissed, banging him hard against the brick wall and forcing a yelp of pain from the terrified teenager. "I have no idea where the hell _you_ came from, but if you think you're ever gonna get within so much of a mile of Mac, then think again, you sick son of a bitch!" she hollered, nearly deafening him with the colossal volume of her shrieks. "You hear me? I said did you hear me, you no-good fuck? I oughta choke the life outta you right now, you low-down-"

As soon as he heard this vicious threat, and upon realization how close her hands were in case it all came down to a violent throttling, Terrence's eyes nearly bulged from his sockets as he increased his efforts fivefold to break away from her iron grip. He tore madly at her knuckles, but all that he ended up with was nothing short of colossal failure. As helpless as a newborn infant, the teenager dangled pitifully in place, held up high by the shirt of his collar while the half-crazed young woman threw dark curses and malicious death threats at him from left and right. Much to his terror, Frankie looked as if she was just about ready to claw through his flesh and rip his heart clean out in her unfathomable anger.

"_Mac_!" she screamed like a banshee. "You bastard, you tried to _kill_ Mac! Your own little brother and you tried to kill him! I-"

Letting her rage spew forth like magma from an erupting volcano, Frankie became absolutely oblivious to the pounding rain, or the obvious threat of curious passerby pedestrians aimlessly wandering about in the deluge. So blind was her frenzied wrath, she didn't even notice the fact that her cell phone, having tumbled from her pocket onto the sidewalk during her wild lunge earlier, now began to ring furiously. Its chime fell upon completely deaf ears, as Frankie could hear nothing except her own colossal shrieks as she seemed determined to scare her captive half to death before personally tearing him limb from limb in her uncontrollable frenzy. Trapped within the confines of a bloodthirsty fury, she noticed absolutely nothing.

A certain dumbstruck azure blob, however, did.

Stunned out of his mind by the terrible scene before him, for the first few seconds Bloo could do nothing but stare dumbly at the phone as it rang furiously, the harsh pound of the rain nearly drowning it out. Finally, his mind teetering on the edge of sanity, the little imaginary friend simply plodded over to it and dutifully answered the call, while Frankie continued to dish out a healthy portion of grim vengeance.

"H-hello?" Bloo answered stupidly. "Who's there?"

He listened intently. Then, within an instant, his natural blue color nearly paled into a shade of pure white as the unbelievable was explained to him in hasty garble. It was then that his unimaginable confusion made the hasty transformation into a horror of the likes that he had never felt before, as if fear's icy black hand was suddenly grabbing hold of his heart. Barely emitting an almost inaudible squeak, Bloo let the phone tumble from his stubby appendages as he dashed off in a direct beeline towards a certain pair, leaving behind an extremely confused speaker.

"Bloo?" Wilt's voice crackled over the receiver. "Bloo? What're you doing? Bloo? _Bloo_! Please, I gotta speak to-"

"_HEY_!" Frankie suddenly shrieked, as the feeling of something heavy latching onto her soggy sweater hood suddenly interrupted her vengeance. "What the hell-"

"F-F-F-" Bloo tried desperately in vain to convey his horrendous news across as he hung onto her, trying to force the words out with every ounce of willpower he had in his tremendous shock. "F-"

The redhead just howled her displeasure to the sky as she started thrashing about madly to try and shake her unwanted passenger loose.

"Bloo, get off! Get off, Bloo!" she hissed fiercely. "Dammit, Bloo, you get off-"

"F-Frankie…" he finally squeaked out, dangling behind the enraged redhead and clinging on tightly like a barnacle upon a sunken wreck. "F-

"_BLOO_! LET GO!" Frankie shrieked angrily, nearly frothing at the mouth like some rabid animal. Reaching behind her, the girl took one wild swipe and soundly whacked the little imaginary friend clear from his precarious perch. With a heartbreaking squeal Bloo tumbled through the air to hit the ground with a _splash_ as he landed in a nearby puddle. As he became saturated anew with a fresh blast of cold water, the terrible shock finally managed to shock the ability for words back into him, and the little blob wasted no time in struggling to get his message across, babbling like a broken faucet.

"_Mac_! M-Mac…h-hospital….h-h-heart….Mac…" Bloo managed to start sputtering out the words as fast as his hysterical panic allowed him to. "Mac….M-Mac….bad shape…at h-h-hospital….r-really bad shape! _Mac_! _Hospital_! _Mac_!"

And with these few horribly stuttered words, it was all over.

Just as soon as the bloodthirsty beast with the unquenchable thirst for revenge had arrived to take control of the redheaded caretaker, she disappeared without a trace. All that was left behind there outside the medical practice in the dreadful deluge was a very wet, extremely confused, and utterly mortified young woman.

"M-Mac?" she whimpered softly, her eyes rapidly widening to the size of dinner plates in her horror. For a moment, she could have sworn that her heart had stopped beating for a second or so in her mind-numbing shock as the absolute unthinkable was revealed to her. Even after she had given her solemn word several times before earlier that day that nothing bad was to happen, and now…

Frankie didn't know whether she wanted to screech at the top of her lungs, cry herself in a state of dehydration, collapse in a dead heap, or do all three at once.

Instantly her iron grip went limp, causing Terrence to collapse back upon the sidewalk in an undignified sprawl. However, even as he made contact with the cement surface, the teenager didn't utter so much as a grunt of pain. Another bout of terror-induced muteness had taken control of him, as he frantically tried to piece together Bloo's piecemeal message of woe.

Mac…

His brother…

Hospital…

Bad shape…

****

**_Mac_**.

Terrence began to tremble uncontrollably. Every time he repeated that fateful name over and over in his mind, there was no trace of anger, or bitter thirst for revenge that had to be slaked. That maniacal desire for vengeance had ceased to exist weeks ago. Looking deep inside, all he could find left was pure and simple fright over a little eight-year-old boy who appeared to be tottering on the edge of life.

No, he finally realized. Not just some eight-year-old; his _family_.

"C'mon, we gotta go!" Frankie shrieked, abruptly shattering the mind-numbing silence as she gathered what wits she still possessed about her. Wasting no time, Bloo hastily gathered her fallen crutches together and shoved them into the redhead's hands. No sooner had he completed this task, he made a frantic beeline back towards the bus, scuttling back inside as quickly as his athletic abilities allowed him.

Now that she had her crutches back, Frankie propelled herself for the first step in her own mad dash-

_THUD_.

And before she knew it, she was lying facedown upon the sidewalk, her good leg helplessly anchored in place by some newfound weight. Growling venomously, the redhead craned her neck towards her unwanted impediment.

"Get off!" she yowled ferociously, thrashing about madly to try and free herself. "Get off! Get off! I said get the hell-"

The hysterical-looking Terrence only shook his head furiously as he gripped on tightly to her ankle, holding on to it as if for dear life.

"Please…" he begged in a barely audible whisper. "T-take me with you….p-please…"

The redhead just snarled viciously as she doubled her efforts to wriggle loose of his tenacious hold. "Get off! Get off! Dammit, I need to get to-"

"So do _I_!" the teenager wailed piteously, cutting her off in mid-threat.

It was then that to Frankie's mind-blowing shock that she realized that it wasn't a peculiar amount of rain that was drenching the boy's cheeks, but a cascade of warm, salty tears pouring down the sides of his face at an unprecedented rate.

The girl paused for a moment, struggling frantically to try and comprehend it all as the teenager suddenly broke down before her very eyes and began to sob uncontrollably. Instinctively, she thought of the whole thing as but an act so that he would be able to take his final revenge.

But then again, why _now_, when he had his golden opportunity a few weeks ago? That incident at the hospital had been an absolute godsend for him, that for some reason, he never took full advantage of.

Plus, there was the undeniable fact that he was now practically bawling hysterically like a baby. Attempted murderers didn't cry like this over their victims, did they? So what in the world-

Then realization struck her like a thunderbolt. Yes, vile scumbags _never_ lamented lost prey. But after hearing about the atrocious condition of a beloved family member, who couldn't help but break down weeping? After all, the concept was entirely all-too-familiar for her.

Before she could finish getting her chaotic muddle of thoughts in order, Frankie suddenly blurted out the unthinkable.

"Get in the bus, quick. I'm not sure how much time we have."

* * *

In his hysteria, God only knew how long it took Terrence to comprehend the fact that Frankie hadn't annihilated him, and it was a veritable unsolved mystery how long it took for him to realize he was actually sitting right there on the Foster's bus. Never mind the fact that it was roaring down the street at a blatantly illegal speed in the middle of a rainstorm of biblical proportions, the simple truth that a certain young woman was even tolerating his presence was already too much for him to handle.

The raven-haired boy huddled miserably in his seat, desperate not to make eye contact with the others. Fortunately, the sole imaginary friend present wasn't a problem, Bloo more or less seemed far too stunned by the unfathomable turn of events to even pass the unexpected passenger a second glance. To this, Terrence hastily muttered a prayer of relief, for had Mac not been in such serious condition at the moment, no doubt the little blob would be taking out his revenge like a half-starved dog attacking a plump steak. Instead, Bloo just lay curled up in a little ball of condensed misery, desperately trying to suppress the tears that poured down his cheeks in his frantic dismay. It was clear the little creature was oblivious to all else, helplessly trapped in a bubble of unimaginable misery and woe.

Despite this one less threat, Terrence's chest still went as tight as a drawn bowstring every time he glanced up at Frankie via the rear view mirror. Casting aside the rainwater that had soaked her from head to toe, her face remained bone-dry. Rather than possessing the hysterical panic of her counterparts, the redhead carried an odd, stoic, expression of the utmost resolute determination, and the kind of look one would only see on a monument to some legendary hero. Indeed, the fact that she was rocketing down the road at such dazzling speed in the middle of a monstrous deluge hardly seemed to worry her one smidgen. However, despite such overwhelming evidence, it was still clear that she was free from the same terror gripping the others; a truth betrayed by the way her hands quivered uncontrollably as they gripped the steering wheel.

Unfortunately, although determination seemed to be the name of the game, it was difficult to say what goal she was so focused on accomplishing. Yes, she could simply want to make it to the hospital in time, but then again, she could just as well be absolutely resolute to stop along the way and brutally take the vengeance that was due to her in response for this living nightmare. Terrence shuddered violently as he slunk a little in his seat. The half-crazed boy who had been bent on taking revenge no matter the circumstances seemed to be an eternity away at this point, but that almost criminally inside teenager had still been _him_ nonetheless.

Eliciting a low whimper, the boy hugged his legs and tried to expel such thoughts from his mind. The situation was far too dire for the young woman to be thinking of swift, harsh revenge, why on earth would she take a gruesome side-trip when-

Terrence's train of thought abruptly derailed when Frankie suddenly stomped on the breaks, bringing the bus to a screeching halt. The boy didn't even feel the pain as the momentum smashed him into the seat in front of him as a surge of hysterical fright took hold. He began to pray desperately to any deity who'd listen not to make this his final moment, anything to spare him from the grisly penance he was about to pay at the hands of a redhead whose fury knew no bounds.

Fortunately, his preparations for the very worst had all been made in vain, seeing as the first place Frankie headed as soon as she grabbed a spare crutch was outside in the middle of the torrential downpour, rushing back on boarding an instant. Only now though, she hefted long with her a very wet, extremely familiar, and absolutely hysterical pigtailed little girl, clad in soggy overalls and waterlogged cowboy boots.

"_Goo_!" Frankie gasped in mortified shock, settling the bawling little eight-year-old on a vacant seat. "What on earth are you doing out there? Why aren't you-"

Weeping uncontrollably, Goo struggled to moan out her tale between ragged sobs.

"M-mama s-s-said that I-I c-couldn't go…" she squeaked pitifully, trying wipe to away the excessive rainwater and hordes of salty tears that nearly blinded her. "S-s-said he'd be alright, a-a-and I d-didn't need to be there, 'cuz…cuz…but I _gotta_ be there, M-Mac's my best friend, a-and…I…I…"

It was no use to inquire any further how the child escaped from her home or how long she been traveling on foot simply to see her desperately ailing friend. Goo became completely overcome with a sour mix of bodily exhaustion and nerve-wracking worry for Mac, reducing her to a complete wreck. Sobbing, she curled up into a little ball and hugged her knees tightly as bitter grief wrenched total control of the child.

Realizing with absolute horror that she probably had less time than originally thought, Frankie hastily deposited the wailing child next to a badly-startled Bloo, babbling out a hasty order that he was to try and tend to her, despite his own pitiful condition. Immediately the redhead hurled herself back into the driver's seat, stepped on the gas, and within an instant they were blasting back down the road, traveling as fast as the old bus could possibly take them.

Despite Goo's extraordinary panic, Frankie still didn't even shed so much as a tear; her gut-wrenching terror was too overwhelming at this point for her to cry. She didn't even give a second thought to the fact that her passengers included a hysterical eight-year-old plucked off the street, an imaginary friend five seconds away from having a fright-induced heart attack, or even the dazed teenager partially responsible for it all. Every instinct Frankie possessed simply shrieked the same thing to her, over and over and over; Mac, she had to get to Mac.

Her mind a chaotic whirl, her stomach twisted up in knots, her heart pounding like mad, and her entire body quivering uncontrollably, Frankie separately tried to hold herself together as she steered the rampaging bus down half-flooded streets, praying desperately that they'd make it in time.

"Hold on, pal…"


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's notes: Not much to say, other than thanks to everyone who reviewed. Here's the chapter…**

* * *

Wilt held the phone in his hand, utterly confused. Struggling madly to listen through all of the static, he could only barely make out the torrential pattering of the rain and some of Bloo's brief but effective cries to Frankie about Mac.

He only told them half of it before Bloo had panicked; they still didn't know that Mac was-

And then like that, the line suddenly went dead. With a yelp of surprise, Wilt hastily re-dialed Frankie's cell phone number. Much to his dismay, he found that he was immediately sent to voice mail.

"Hi, you've reached 555-6300. Sorry I'm not here right now, please leave a message…"

_The storm_, he thought with an indescribably excruciating feeling of utmost dread. He held the phone still and gawked at it in total disbelief. How would he contact Frankie now? How would she know how atrociously urgent the situation was? Bloo wasn't going to be a reliable source; he broke down the moment he found out that Mac simply was in the hospital.

He didn't even know that Mac was _dying_ yet.

Wilt could only pray with what shred of hope he possessed that Bloo wouldn't hold back as he relayed the incomplete information he had to Frankie.

Emitting a long, pained sigh, he dejectedly hung up the phone, and glanced morosely at the elderly woman and her imaginary friend waiting patiently nearby.

"I…I told Bloo…but then I was cut off before I got the chance to tell Frankie," Wilt murmured sadly, letting his head sag in bitter defeat.

Madame Foster tried to crack a weak smile of reassurance as she gently reached up to take the scarlet-furred creature's hand into hers. "But she knows…"

Wilt shrugged. "She knows he's in the hospital…"

"…But she doesn't know how grave the situation is does she?" Mr. Herriman finished for him with a solemn grimace.

The lanky imaginary friend nodded quietly. An awkward silence entered the conversation, letting its ugly, depressing spirit fill up every nook and cranny in the small hospital room, save for the beep coming from the heart monitor. The two imaginary friends and one human tried to ponder how they would tell a certain redheaded caretaker that her charge had only a few hours of life left.

Madame Foster suddenly rose from her chair, breaking the uncomfortable stillness. "We'll be in the waiting room to meet her when she comes, Wilt. You stay with the boy; Frankie would want that."

With this solemn declaration, she exited the gloomy hospital room, her imaginary friend hopping behind her.

Wilt used his good arm, and put Mac's small, limp hand into his own. He shivered; the icy cold presence of death was slowly taking the child away from the world he so loved.

Frankie would be heartbroken; the scene would be tremendously horrific for her to view. To learn that the child she fought for, cared for, and loved so dearly would suddenly leave her would be absolutely unbearable.

The heart monitor showed a wavy neon green line against a background of black, ever so weak but strong enough to be noticed. He didn't need the doctor to tell him Mac was dying; he couldn't help but notice it the second as he entered the room.

Rain poured onto the roof, and Wilt could have sworn that the world had been crying with him.

* * *

The rain fell down in thick sheets, almost like a curtain of silver was about to swallow up the brightly colored bus traveling through the downpour.

Frankie squinted, attempting to see through the horrific storm. She was extremely lucky she had even seen Goo; if it hadn't been for her brightly colored shirt, the redhead might have passed her by and left the little girl at the complete mercy of the elements.

It was so hard to concentrate on the road- thoughts of Mac and his unknown state at the moment made it almost impossible.

Was that the dashed line in the middle of the road, or was it just the rain?

Suddenly, Frankie felt herself temporarily lose control of the steering wheel. Swerving towards a forest lining the road, she gripped the wheel and with a tremendous burst of effort, spun safely back onto the street. Goo whimpered with fright and held onto one of Bloo's blobby appendages, while the azure imaginary friend smacked into the window. Terrence held onto the seat for dear life, attempting not to fly out into the aisle in a heap.

_That was close,_ Frankie thought. How would they be able to get to Mac if they were lying on the side of the road in the midst of a horrific wreck, badly injured or even worse?

She grimaced as she agonized over the atrocious dilemma before her. If she pulled over, the rain might calm down enough for them to travel without any fear of danger. But that would also keep them from getting to Mac sooner- a tremendous price they would have to pay. But how could she? Frankie imagined a terrified, traumatized Mac sitting alone in a hospital bed, weeping uncontrollably without his big sister by his side to comfort him in his utmost hour of need.

Then she thought better of it. _How can I help Mac if I'm dead?_

With a sigh of remorse, the young woman pulled over. She glanced behind her, only to see three tear-streaked faces staring at her blankly in absolute befuddlement.

"Frankie… w-what're you doing? W-we…we have to g-get to Mac…" Bloo muttered, attempting desperately to hide how extremely frustrated he was with the unexpected course of action. Beside him, Goo nodded furiously in agreement.

Frankie stood up and hobbled to the empty seat behind her. "I'm sorry, but if we keep going while the rain's pouring like this, we're definitely going to get into an accident. As much as I want to keep going, I…"

Bloo had just been waiting for that moment ever since they had gotten into the bus, and here it was. Although she had attempted to save her tears until she found out what was wrong with Mac, Frankie couldn't stand it any longer and burst out crying, hastily burying her face in her hands.

Terrence watched closely. Bloo, although nervous and sobbing, looked like he was ready to attack someone out of the unfathomable aggravation he felt deep within. Meanwhile, the weepy redhead looked like she just was only moments away from having a major breakdown, and the little girl in the pigtails and cowboy boots looked, above anything else, shocked and devastated.

As soon as he laid eyes upon her, Terrence couldn't help but continue to stare at the girl as comprehension hit him. This was that child he used to see Mac hanging out with a few months before. Goo's face, not used to being in any other expression then one of pure, unadulterated happiness, seemed even more severe and grief-filled then the others. Terrence couldn't quite figure out why, but the way she kept biting her lip told him that she knew something.

Tripping, he clumsily stumbled out of the seat he was in and moved up to the one directly across from Bloo and the girl.

Goo looked up, and acted like she didn't know he was on the bus until that moment.

"It's _you_…" she muttered in a menacing whisper. "You're Mac's brother… the one that… that…"

She couldn't finish. Terrence was deathly silent as he watched the girl continue to cry unashamedly.

"He never blamed you for a minute, you know," Goo blurted out all of a sudden, making the teenager jump a little. Bitter anguish, with a hint of anger filled her voice. "Not once… if anything, he j-just wanted to get better."

Terrence grimaced as fresh pangs of guilt stabbed him mercilessly from within. "I..I don't blame you for hating me."

He felt her eyes scan him for any trace of revenge, and then her face softened, although she still looked slightly suspicious.

"He forgave you." she whispered softly in revelation.

The teenager frowned, and then inquired, "But do you?"

Astonished, the little girl opened her mouth to speak, and then hastily slammed her jaw shut. She opened it again, and stuttered, "Y-You don't-t even know me. W-Why are y-you asking m-me?"

Terrence blinked, and thought for a moment. "Because I know you care about him."

She nodded, and that was all the response she needed. Goo let her head fall up against the seat, muffling her sobs.

Frankie stopped crying for a moment as comprehension suddenly hit her. "Wait… Goo…"

The pigtailed girl lifted up her head and emitted a pitiful whimper.

"You were… you were there when it happened, weren't you?" Bloo inquired before Frankie could continue.

Goo nodded. "Right until the ambulance left," she stated bitterly.

Terrence looked her straight in the eyes. "What happened to my brother?" he inquired in a brazen quaver.

She took a deep breath, and then told her story. "W-we were just playing, and then he… he started coughing. Wilt was there, too. Then he stopped coughing… but then… then he… stopped…b-breathing."

Bloo gasped, and Frankie choked on her own tears. "I-I gave him CPR, and-"

"Wait…You know CPR?" Bloo asked, vocalizing what everyone was thinking.

"_Yes_," Goo spat, slightly annoyed. "As if I haven't been asked that enough today. So anyway, then we called 911 and the ambulance came. But Mama wouldn't let me go… M-Mama wouldn't let me…" She broke off into a sob.

Bloo bit his lip. "Then why are you-"

"I snuck out." She confessed in a low whisper.

Frankie copied Goo and banged her head into the back of the seat in front of her. "Joy," she said under her breath.

Terrence suddenly stood up.

"Where," Frankie inquired, regaining composure, "exactly do you think you are going?"

Terrence halted from where he stood in the aisle. "If you aren't going to drive us to the hospital, then _I_ am."

The redhead briefly shoved aside all her frantic thoughts as she followed suit. "I'm _not_ going to let an insane psychopath thirteen-year-old punk drive the Foster's bus. The rain will clear up soon, I'm sure."

"We're leaving, _now_, whether you're driving or not," Terrence spat, attempting to cast away his memories of being terrorized by the imposing young woman in front of him. "And I'm warning you, I'm a… err… um, what's the word?"

Bloo hurriedly leaned over and whispered the word in his ear.

"I'm a drunk driver… wait a minute! That's not right!" Terrence sputtered awkwardly.

The azure blob snorted through his tears. "Sorry, couldn't resist."

"Aggressive." The teenager finally found the right word. "That's it… I'm an aggressive driver."

Goo felt the blob get closer as he whispered, "You better believe it."

The grief-stricken girl didn't utter so much as a giggle however as a dead quiet cloaked the bus while everyone waited for Frankie's response.

The redhead had to admit that the hastily improvised prank _was_ a little funny, and desperately wanted to laugh, or least crack a grin. Unfortunately, it seemed wrong for the silence in the bus to be filled with laughter at so tragic a time.

_Silence._

Silence!

The young woman couldn't help but pause for a moment to bask in the glorious lack of clamor. During the brief dispute, the rain had calmed down quite a bit; not longer pounding on the roof as if it were about to seep in through the seams, but now just gently drizzling, much her everlasting gratitude to what felt like nothing less of divine intervention.

"No one other than _me_ will be driving this bus tonight," Frankie muttered through gritted teeth.

And with that, she hobbled back to the driver's position, greeting the steering wheel as if it were a long lost friend.

* * *

Wilt jerked a little in surprise. He could have sworn he felt Mac's hand move, but it went still again an instant later. Just when the imaginary friend had managed to convince himself that his mind was playing tricks on him however, it happened again.

"Mac?" the scarlet creature inquired.

Sure enough, the small boy groaned, and his eyes fluttered open. He slowly pulled his hand away from Wilt's, raising it to his oxygen mask. Mac struggled to drag it down to his chin, exposing his pale face.

"W-Wilt?" the ailing child whispered.

Upon hearing his name, the imaginary friend moved closer to the boy. "Yeah, Mac?"

"Am I…a-am I… d-dying?"

Wilt didn't know how to respond. For a moment he just looked at the child as he desperately struggled in vain to figure out what to say in response to the child's unthinkably blunt inquiry.

Mac's breaths were deep, and Wilt could tell that they couldn't satisfy the oxygen he so badly needed. His lips had a bluish tint, and his skin almost blended in with the stark white paint of the walls.

Wilt finally nodded, leaving it at that. "Frankie's coming, Mac, and so is Bloo. They'll be here soon…"

Mac gave a weak smile. "Wilt?"

"Yes?"

"C-Can you promise me something?"

Wilt blinked back the wave of tears that had begun to well up furiously in his eyes. Why did _he_ have to be the sole witness to the frail little boy's last request?

"What is it, Mac?"

His breathing was getting shallower… He needed the oxygen mask back on, and soon.

"P-promise me that… that you and…. Bloo… and Frankie will stay together… Y-Y'know, as a… as a family."

Wilt nodded, finally letting the tears escape from his eyes, letting them cascade freely down his cheeks.

"And tell Goo that… she's not…"

He trailed off into a small coughing fit, and Wilt immediately fitted the oxygen mask back on Mac's face, just as the eight-year-old's eyes closed shut like twin leaden weights.

Wilt patted the boy's hand, limp once more, and sighed. "I'll tell them, Mac."

For a few moments, he sat quietly, mulling over the request when his memory was jogged. Curses, he was supposed to call Goo with any news about Mac, and he completely forgot! The poor girl would no doubt be a nervous wreck by then, he-

Just as he was about to reach for the phone, he was startled by a sudden knock at the door. Before he could reply, it swung open, and Madame Foster hurriedly entered.

"They're all here, Wilt." She announced breathlessly. "Frankie, and Bloo… and Goo, too. I must say, I was surprised to see her…"

He nodded dumbly for a few moments until Madame Foster gestured a bit impatiently with her cane.

"You'd better come, dear. Waiting isn't going to help things get any better than they are. It's time, Wilt… you need to tell them."

Joy. Two barely informed people and one little girl with only the traumatic memories of what little she had witnessed.

As if _that_ would make telling them about Mac _so_ much easier.

* * *

**Author's notes: Once again, not much to say. Review, please!**

**-Marty :-D**


	15. Chapter 15

Ack, sorry, our apologies for such a long wait!

Unfortunately, to be perfectly blunt, it may be a while until chapter sixteen is posted - lucyrocks73 and I are freshmen in high school and college respectively, and we're both dealing with massive courseloads at the moment, which unfortunately means very little time for much else.

Sorry for the trouble, and we thank everyone for being patient!

* * *

Atrociously seething anger. Gut-wrenching misery. Unfathomable pain. Frantic denial. 

None of these did any justice whatsoever in describing the unimaginable agony Frankie was being so cruelly forced to endure at that moment. The excruciating horror was worse then the torment of a thousand red hot jagged knives all stabbing furiously at her heart. She might as well have been hurled into a pit of lava, and the pain would still be miles away from being able to match the torrent of enraged anguish that surged through every ounce of her being. The young woman's mind even seemed to throb unmercifully in wracking agony as she tried desperately to comprehend the all-too-simple phrase that had been so bluntly dropped upon her.

_"Frankie, Mac is…dying…" _

"No! No! No! _Noooooooo_!" The girl howled as loudly as her lung capacity enabled her, letting all those in the farthest reaches of heaven and the deepest depths of hell know of the indescribable pain she felt, wailing like a wounded beast in its last throes of life. Her piteous screams of denial couldn't have been more heart wrenching to listen to had Frankie been drawn and quartered while still alive, as few wincing bystanders noticed while the girl nearly deafened all those present.

"He's _not_ dying! No! He's not! He's not! He's _NOT_!" Frankie began now began to shriek in bitter refusal, stomping her soggy sneakers hard upon the ground as she glared venomously at all wary hospital staff present, no doubt attracted by the horrendous commotion. Trying to hold back the warm salty tears that furiously welled up in her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks at any moment, she snarled viciously at all those present as she ruptured into a terrific rage, unleashing her fury upon all those unlucky enough to be there.

"What do you mean you can't do anything for him?" she hissed, glaring about fiercely. "You bastards! He's just a little kid! There's gotta be something you can do for him! There's just gotta! Fuck, that's _your_ goddamn job to make sure people don't die! Why the hell-"

As she vented, a nearby nurse took a deep breath and boldly stepped forward to attempt to calm the hysterical girl down somewhat.

"Ma'am, please," she began gently, delicately placing a hand on Frankie's shoulder. "You-" 

Immediately Frankie whirled about, her piercing jade eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets in her uncontrollable rage.

"Mac's only _eight years old_!" she bellowed, nabbing hold of the terrified woman's jacket and roughly shoving her away, sending the poor soul tumbling to the floor in an undignified sprawl.

Immediately a few others darted forward to try and subdue her, but all came to a dead halt after only a few paces as Frankie's unfathomable rage skyrocketed to new heights right before their very eyes. Her entire body quivering with fury, the young woman suddenly hefted one of her crutches and without a second thought, began to beat it wildly against a nearby vending machine, screaming at the top of her lungs with every blow she unleashed.

"He's only eight!" she roared, her face blazing with a vibrant crimson that nearly matched her fiery red hair.

_WHAM_!

"He's only eight!"

_WHAM_!

He's only eight!"

_WHAM_!

He's only eight!"

_WHAM_!

"Eight years old! The kid's only eight years old!"

_WHAM_! _WHAM_! _WHAM_!

At this point the tears were cascading unchecked down her face, her bitter sobs mixing with her snarling as she continued to beat frenziedly at the massive mass of plastic and metal. Despite the horrific scene she was causing, none now dared to try and stop her – doing so would like trying to subdue a rabid grizzly bear. Even Wilt, despite the horror he felt and the intense pangs of guilt her felt for being the one who personally broke the terrible news to her, could do absolutely nothing. Not that he wouldn't take the risk and attempt to actually physically stop her rampage, he would if he could. Unfortunately, he already had his hands full with another hysterical figure as it was.

"No! No! Not Mac! Not Mac! Not Mac!" Bloo continued to squeal over and over, his voice now hoarse after doing so for the last five minutes straight with absolutely no signs of stopping.

Seeing that his pleas were being ignored, the azure blob hissed and began to trash about wildly in Wilt's tenacious grip, squirming like mad as he actually began to bite the lanky imaginary friend's snaking arm in bleak desperation. Unlike Frankie, to him it wasn't a question of denial as much as it seemed to be some cruel conspiracy cooked up by the heartless souls who worked in this frighteningly depressing institution. As the girl had been screaming about earlier, why couldn't they help Mac? Wasn't that their sole duty, to help others? Stung by the bitter injustice of it all, Bloo let loose with another heartbroken wail as he redoubled his attempts to break free and force those who were denying his creator the help he needed to fulfill their purpose.

"You can't do this! No! You can't!" he snarled like an imaginary friend possessed. "Mac! Mac! No! Not Mac! You can't!"

Wilt gritted his teeth as he felt Bloo's teeth sink deep into his skin, but even then he simply tightened his grip upon the inconsolable creature. There would be no telling what havoc would be wrought if he let go, and at least Frankie wasn't doing anyone any harm – Bloo had jumped the nearest doctor the moment he had arrived, screaming frenziedly abut the condition of his beloved creator. Wilt shuddered violently as he stood by and watched helplessly as Frankie continued her terrific rampage, with him unable to do a thing except struggle to keep Bloo in place.

Goo however didn't see any problem with this scenario – whimpering with fright and quivering like a delicate leaf in a gust of wind, the little girl huddled miserably behind the lanky imaginary friend, using him as a makeshift barrier from the redhead's unspeakable wrath.

"…Eight year's old! Mac's only eight year's old! Goddammit, He's only-"

"Frances Foster, STOP."

With this defiant reprimand, a wrinkled hand suddenly shot out of nowhere and grabbed hold of the young woman's wrist, clasping it tightly in an iron grip. Startled, Frankie instantly put a halt to her ear-splitting shrieks and stared dumbly at the petite old woman who had so boldly dared to step forward to take the girl on in the midst of so terrible a rage. For a few excruciatingly tense seconds, nothing could be heard in the hospital hallway except the mad thumping of everyone's hearts, supplemented by the redhead's haggard breath as she gazed into the eyes of her unusually stonefaced grandmother.

Madame Foster didn't utter so much as one word as she stared unblinkingly into the fiery inferno raging in her grandchild's eyes. Holding the young woman in place in an unyielding grasp, the cold look in her own gaze made it more than clear how she felt about her grandchild's rampage. It was nothing more than a fruitless show of anger unable to help a single soul, not even the hysterical girl herself.

With a dull clatter, the badly battered crutch fell limply out of Frankie's hands and tumbled to the floor as her anger swiftly subsided. The blazing fire in her pupils swiftly died down into mere embers, hastily put out by the fresh wave of tears that suddenly began to gushing down her cheeks. Frankie whimpered piteously at her grandmother for a few moments before bursting into full fledged sobs, her colossal anger draining away to make room for a tremendous surge of bitter grief the likes of which the poor girl had never felt before. Bawling uncontrollably, the redhead threw her hands up over her face and fell to her knees, the massive flow of tears cascading through her fingers and onto the floor, as she made no secret of her utter misery.

Shaking her head and eliciting a heavy pain sigh, Madame Foster hobbled forward the few necessary steps and delicately drew her arms around her hysterical granddaughter in a warm embrace, rocking the young woman gently in her hold as Frankie continued to wail unashamedly, absolutely heartbroken. The old woman uttered no warm reassurances as she held the miserable girl close – there could be no words, no matter how thoughtfully-chosen, that could even begin to slightly alleviate the grief felt here.

Still keeping his distance, Wilt too wished to dutifully sweep her up into a hug like any loyal imaginary friend, but as before, he had his own broken soul to deal with. Bloo likewise had put a halt to his madness and now lay sobbing in his friend's hold, finally giving up his struggle and weeping like a frustrated infant.

Even the normally taciturn Mr. Herriman couldn't hold back the few tears that he had begun to trickle down his silvery gray fur, so great was the anguish present. Hoping no one was noticing, he hastily hopped over to the distressed Goo where she lay on the floor, crying uncontrollably an unable to utter anything resembling comprehensible English as she lay curled up in an undignified fetal position. Scooping her up gently into his arms, the imaginary rabbit cradled the grief-stricken eight-year-old softly and hushed her like some grandfather tending to his grief-stricken grandchild.

"Shhhh, hush child." He whispered, patting the weepy little girl's back gently. "There, there, Miss Goo, shhhhhh."

He wanted dearly to say something more, but like his creator, he knew fully well of the dangers of fruitless promises in times of such unavoidable despair. For a while, nothing could be heard in the hall except the sobbing of the miserable group as they lay huddled together in a little group, unable to comprehend the unthinkable tragedy about to come upon them. The gathered hospital staff slowly began to drift off little by little from the heart-wrenching scene to find other needs to attend to, deciding wisely that their presence was far from wanted here.

Now whether she herself had been crying for a few minutes, or even hours, Frankie couldn't tell, much less care. However, after what felt like an eternity of sobbing into her grandmother's shoulder, the young woman removed her head to gaze softly into Madame Foster's eyes.

"Can…c-can I see him?" she managed to ask in a hoarse whisper. The old woman managed a weak smile and nodded softly, and in an instant Frankie had nabbed one of her crutches and had staggered to her feet.

"M-Mac…" Goo suddenly sobbed, and immediately she began to squirm wildly to free herself from Mr. Herriman's hold an in attempt to see her sorely ailing friend. The aged imaginary friend groaned wearily as he attempted to tighten his grip on the fidgety child.

"Miss Goo, please, now is not the time for any-"

The would-be reprimand barely began to roll off his tongue when Frankie silently hobbled over and effortlessly nabbed the weepy Goo clean out of the stunned Mr. Herriman's arms. Fortunately, there was no need for her to repeat the process as twice, as Wilt hastily bent down to place the teary-eyed Bloo gently upon the floor. Wilt pointed wordlessly to where Mac was being held, and with barely a sound the trio scuttled off for what unfortunately could be their final farewells.

Madame Foster, Mr. Herriman, and Wilt all stood in a dead quiet as they watched the three race off.

So fixated was their attention, not one of them noticed the raven-haired teenager peeking softly over a hallway corner behind them, wide-eyed with unfathomable horror and struck mute with shock.

* * *

The small hospital room was cloaked in an eerie silence as the little group plodded in. Not a sound could be hard except a few odd beeps from the various machines present, plus the clack of Frankie's crutch as she hastily limped inside. Upon sight of the all-too-familiar little figure lying motionless upon the bed, the girl carelessly tossed her walking aid aside and hurriedly hopped over, placing herself roughly down upon a chair positioned closely to the bedside. Bloo and Goo likewise followed, using the young woman as an improvised ladder to clamber up onto the mattress to get a better glimpse of their dear friend. Once all were set, they continued to pass the tense seconds quietly, none of them uttering so much as a peep as they gazed woefully upon the little chestnut-haired boy where he lay limply under his sheets, nearly still except for the pitifully weak rise and fall of his chest. Bloo didn't try and rush forward to wrap his creator in a hug, and Goo didn't emit a squeak as they stared unblinkingly, treating Mac as if he were some priceless delicate artifact that would shatter under their clumsy touch. As much as their natural instincts roared at them to do something, both the little ones stayed put and remained unusually subdued. 

Frankie, however, finally broke the awkward calm of the moment when she reached over and gingerly tousled Mac's hair, whispering softly under her breath.

"…Mac?" she muttered in a hoarse croak, stroking his head gently. When she received no response whatsoever to her actions, a massive lump seemed to rise in her throat as she fought the fierce urge to break out weeping again. What on earth was the use? They had told her the moment she arrived that he was still unconsciousness – when, or _if_ he was going to wake up again, simply no one knew.

It was no use to murmur a quick prayer that he would open his eyes soon or even hang on to so much as a meager shred of hope. Her mind was still spinning from the horrific truth that had been revealed to her earlier, she was still having difficulty in processing what was happening. As much as she wanted to deny it, unfortunately the cold hard facts of the matter did not lie to her. There was the testimony of her family, the medical report given to her by the certified staff, and the pale-faced, amd the glaring fact that the unconscious little bundle lying before her was clearly a child who hardly had any life left in him.

While musing over the bitter truth, a harsh sob suddenly rent the air. Immediately she glanced about for its origins, and while the tears were indeed gushing down Bloo and Goo's cheeks unchecked, they wept in a pathetically painful silence. It took a few more seconds for Frankie to finally realize that the sobs were hers, and by that point she was nearly blinded by the warm, salty droplets that welled up furiously in her eyes and trickled down her already tearstained features. It was of no use to try and hold it back, Frankie relinquished all self-control and broke out bawling once more, crying like an infant that had lost its mother. Wailing to the high heavens, the heartbroken young woman carefully scooped up the motionless Mac in her arms, cradling him as gently as humanly possible.

Bloo sniffled weakly as he reached over to clasp his best friend's limp hands tightly. Wiping his eyes furiously with a free blobbish stub of a hand, he glanced up hopefully in the direction of the weepy redhead.

"He…h-he's gonna be okay, right?" he whispered, his voice thick with a fruitless optimism that only he shared, and no one else. Not even the usually effervescent Goo could hold on to such a naïve dream at the moment. Heartbroken by the sight of her friend in such a nightmarish state, the little girl hastily clambered from her perch upon the bed and flung herself into Frankie's lap. Once there, she curled into a little ball of condensed misery and shielded her eyes from the hideous sight as she too broke out anew into fresh tears.

Frankie however didn't even give either of the pair so much as a mere glance as she continued to hold Mac close. Positioning him delicately, she leaned in to whisper into his ear what could very well be the last word's she'd ever be able to say to the child while he still had whatever meager amount of life left in him.

"I love you, pal…"

* * *

Terrence collapsed to the floor, desperately struggling to keep from vomiting himself unconscious as his gut churned at an uncontrollable pace. Shutting his eyes tightly, the teen clenched his jaw shut as he struggled against another overwhelming urge to empty his stomach contents onto the tiles beneath him. 

Had this really been the end he had been so desperate to achieve during his madness? To end the life of a mere eight-year-old little boy, was that really what he had wanted to accomplish in some insane half-crazed scheme for revenge after the loss of their mother's life? To destroy the child who had really no part whatsoever in the disaster that had turned their lives upside down, was that what he wanted?

The very thought of ever being in such a state of mind made Terrence sick to the very core of his soul. This was hardly a glorious victory to be sought after – it was a colossal tragedy to be avoided at all costs possible. Now, realizing that the one shred of his old life that he had left in this world was just down the hallway, slowly fading away into to death, it was all simply too much for Terrence to bear. Without even thinking twice or caring who might spot him reduced to such a pitiful condition, he tossed his hands over his face and frantically struggled to muffle his weeping.

It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair at all. In just a few hours, he was to be left all alone in this cold, dark, merciless world that didn't care which lives were spared and which were so ruthlessly cut down in their prime. And to actually think that he had played a hand in this, that he was the one to set off this horrendous chain in which his own family was spent spiraling into a state of gradual demise. The idea that he had actually been so cruel a monster only weeks ago was far too disgustingly appalling for the thirteen-year-old to comprehend. How on earth could he and that vicious brute have been the same person? That deranged teenager had wanted nothing but to extract terrible revenge, while all Terrence now wanted was to do something, _anything_ to help his dying brother.

But _what_? He had heard the full extent of the terrible truth. For God's sake, Mac needed a whole new heart if he was to have any chance of survival, and it was clear that if they hadn't found a viable match by now, then what hope was there that they'd find one with so little time left?

Terrence elicited a harsh sob as he felt himself plummet helplessly into the deepest depths of mortified despair. It was hopeless, absolutely hopeless. After all, what could he, some miserable grungy scumbag do about it? He had literally nothing to contribute to the bleak situation, nothing to-

As if sent by divine inspiration, it hit him. The boy went breathless for a few tense moments as he slowly reached up to place a badly quivering hand over his chest. Immediately, he felt the familiar gentle pace of his own heartbeat, thumping as healthily as could be. Maybe…

A quick surge of panic suddenly took hold of him, and hastily he forced his palm away. What on earth was he _thinking_? No, he couldn't, that was simply insane, a harebrained scheme cooked up in a moment of utter desperation. Even if he was a match, he couldn't, he just _couldn't_. There was no way in hell that he…that he would…

Just as abruptly as it had arrived, all doubt suddenly made a hasty retreat, fleeing like mad in the face of a massive flow of steadfast determination that suddenly possessed the teen. Gone was the fear, the worry, the faltering, and all others of their kind. Terrence's brow furrowed as he slowly got to his feet, a stoic expression now adorning his features.

No longer was it an agonizing decision he was to suffer excruciating anger over. It wasn't even a question of "yes" or "no" by this point. Never mind what all arguments to the contrary said, his little brother needed him now, and that was all that he needed to know.

With a deep breath, he took off down the hallway at a wild sprint, searching frantically about as he dashed pell-mell. He was partially responsible for this mess, and thus it was his duty to set things straight.

Who cared that he may already be marked and bound for hell the second his existence came to a halt. He took comfort in knowing that in his final act, at least one soul would still be saved to enjoy this life.

"Hold on, Mac!"

* * *

Pushing a cart loaded to the brim with filthy hospital gowns waiting to be cleaned, Connor mused lightly over the pitiful spectacle he had just witness moments before. It was such a shame to see the little group so torn up over the loss of that poor child, but then again, were they supposed to react any differently? Such was life, he guess, it comes and goes in an instant. No sense in mulling over an indisputable fact of existence when- 

Connor paused for a moment as a very peculiar cry reached his ears in what was a frighteningly familiar voice. The medical personnel-in-training came to a halt as he glanced about, slightly puzzled.

"What the-"

Suddenly, before he knew it, a raven-haired blur descended upon him, grabbing the startled young man by his collar and planting him firmly against the wall.

"I need you to some if I'm on file here or somethin', _now_!" His attacker bellowed at the top of his lungs. Startled clear out of his wits, Connor squirmed about like a mouse trapped under a cat's paw.

"Sir, please!" he begged, clawing wildly at his assailant's iron grip. "I-if you need help, th-tthen the front desk should…s-should…"

It was then that he realized that he had just been assaulted by a mere thirteen-year-old boy, and an all-too-familiar one at that. His narrowed his eyes and broke out into what was an intimidating scowl.

"_You_!" He growled, batting the teenager's hands away with a huff. "I don't know what the hell _you_ want here, but-"

It was all the work of just a few moments. In an instant, Connor found himself forced to his knees, tearing frantically in blind fright at the hands than grasped on tenaciously to the scruff of his neck. Terrence glared venomously at him with an inferno a thousand suns couldn't match blazing in his eyes.

"This _isn't_ for me." He snarled, shaking the young man violently. "This is for _Mac_."

Connor's head was reeling in total confusion as he gawked stupidly at the raven-haired boy.

"Wait! Wait! _What_ are you talking about?" he cried. "Didn't you hear them? What can you do that can help-"

"You think _she_ was late because she got stuck in traffic or something? Huh?" Terrence growled in blatant reference to Frankie. "What, you think she stopped at Starbucks along the way while Mac was dying? Hmm? Is that it?"

"I-" Connor tried to murmur before the blatantly annoyed teenager shook him roughly

"Listen, Einstein; how can she let you guys do the transplant if _she doesn't bring the donor with her_?"

"Wait, you mean that _you_-" the young man murmured stupidly in total disbelief stunned out of his mind by the unthinkable coming out of Terrence's mouth. Meanwhile, the teen just snarled as he tightened his iron grip.

"Do I _look_ like I'm jokin' around?"

* * *

"_OOF_!" 

It had all happened so fast, Frankie barely had enough time to elicit a loud grunt of surprise as with a blur of scarlet she found herself swept clean from her perch along with two little ones and trapped helplessly in a tenacious embrace. Her mind immediately began to spin in total confusion as the young woman desperately tried to comprehend what was going on as she instinctively tried to thrash free of the iron hold she was bound in, not even recognizing the lanky imaginary friend who held her tightly.

"Frankie, Frankie, _please_!" Wilt pleaded as he tightened his grip upon the frantically struggling redhead. "Calm down, you gotta calm-"

He bit down hard upon his lip to stifle a yelp of pain as his arm seemed to come aflame with agony – mad with hysteria and with arms pinned at his sides, Bloo had immediately resorted to use his teeth as a last-ditched attempt to liberate himself. Wriggling about with strength born of despair and snarling like a wounded animal, the little blob resembled an azure jackal as he snapped viciously at any part at Wilt's arm that lay in reach of his jaws.

"Lemmego! Lemmego!" Goo squealed indignantly, lashing out fiercely with her heavy cowboy boots as she kicked repeatedly. "Leggo, Wilt, leggo! Leggo right now, or else-"

Despite the fact that what he was doing was the equivalent of single-handedly holding back a wild mob, Wilt never wavered for so much as a second in his heroic attempt to subdue the three. Although wincing every now and then as Bloo's teeth scored another bite, he kept an unusually stoic expression on as he held on grimly to the trio, gripping them with the power of a gigantic steel bear trap. There was no way in heaven or hell he would loosen his grasp, he knew for a fact that it simply had to be done, especially when-

"What are you _doing_?" Frankie screeched as soon as she saw a couple nurses rush in and descend upon Mac. Sensing something was horribly amiss, the young woman emanated a vicious growl as she increased her efforts for liberation twofold, with the madly wiggling imaginary friend and little girl following her example.

"Put him down! Put him down!" Goo spat venomously, bearing a horrendous glower making her the equivalent of some medieval stone gargoyle as she yelled continuously at the people crowding around her friend. In his own madness, Bloo had stopped using English entirely to express his gut-wrenching distress and seething rage, resorting instead to bone-chilling, animalistic snarls and howls, supplemented by hoarse cries for his creator.

"Mac! Mac!" he croaked before unleashing another wild yell.

"Where are you taking him? Where?" Frankie screamed at the top of her lungs, throwing every ounce of strength into her frantic struggle. None of the staff present answered her, focusing on preparing the sickly child before hastily wheeling him out of the room, eager to be rid of the equivalence of a pack of rapid wolves within.

"No! No! _MAC_!" Frankie shrieked like a banshee as she watched them take her little brother away. Putting on one more desperate burst of energy, the girl suddenly wrenched herself free from Wilt's hold, abruptly slipping out like a greased eel and making for the door the instant she was loose. Unfortunately, the pathetic half-stagger and half-limp she traveled at made her an all-too-easy target for those who still wished to restrained her, as she unhappily found out when Mr. Herriman easily nabbed her the moment she made it out into the hallway.

"_LET ME GO_!" she bellowed furiously, nearly shattering nearby windows with the volume of her screams. The imaginary rabbit only shook his head resolutely as he held her wrists firmly and deftly pinned the hysterical redhead against the wall, gritting his teeth in intense exertion as he struggled to hold her in place.

"Miss Frances, please! You have to calm down! You must-" he roared, but his begging was immediately drowned out by the young woman's heartbreaking shrieks.

"Mac! Mac! Where are you taking Mac? What's going on?" she roared, her face an ugly mess of boiling anger and unbearable fright. "Where-"

"Miss Frances, in the name of everything that is sacred, get a hold of yourself!" Mr. Herriman barked fiercely, matching her fierce rage. "You need to let the doctors do their work, God only knows how little they have for their procedure to-"

Frankie's head spun at the sound of the unthinkable. "_What_? Procedure? What procedure?" she pleaded miserably for answers as she put a temporary halt to her struggle.

"Master Mac's transplant!" Mr. Herriman answered quickly. "My God, what on earth has gotten into you? You storm in here, rant about the child's inevitable demise like a lunatic, and then you don't even tell any of us of the _donor_ you managed to locate just before you arrived? Please, now is not the time for-"

Unfortunately, when he used that single fateful word, all he could conjure up were images of some anonymous stranger's heart lying in a Styrofoam cooler of ice in a back room somewhere, located after some gargantuan effort on the girl's part. Frankie however did no such thing, she only knew of one act she had performed before arriving that could even come close to what the imaginary friend was blathering on about. Within moments Mr. Herriman found himself gasping for breath as Frankie began her fierce struggle anew, thrashing about wildly as her screams reverberated loudly throughout the entire hospital.

"Oh my God, _TERRENCE_!"

* * *

Ack, sorry for the cliffhanger - it's an extremely busy time of the school year that we're both dealing with.

Anyway, thanks for reading! All feedback is very much appreciated!


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's notes: Yeah. I know; no excuses. Blame the people who wrote High School Musical for making the entire world obsessed with it (AKA why I had to put so much time into my role as Kelsi in my school's version of it…). **

**I'm terrible about writing on a schedule, and anyone who's read any of my multi-chapter fics knows how long it takes me to update. **

**Anyway, I'm sorry for the confusion about the last chapter…**

* * *

Frankie never knew time could pass so slowly, each tick reminding her of what they were waiting for.

Four hours. That's how long the surgery was supposed to take. Four hours. A nurse came in twenty minutes into the wait to explain exactly what was going on. Mac's heart transplant was extremely late, so there was a chance that the surgery might not work.

And if the worst did happen… not one, but two lives would be over.

She didn't quite know _how_ Terrence did it, but he convinced someone that he was the donor. She didn't even know that live voluntarily donors were even allowed. Needless to say, she was still struggling to get over the horrific shock she had suffered.

The doctors had emptied out a small conference room for the awkward group. Despite the mix-matched array of chairs scattered around the long table in the center of the room, Goo waited in the far corner. Her head rested against the wall, and she hugged her long legs to her chest.

Bloo was surprisingly still, staring at the wall from where he sat at the far end of the table.

Frankie sat across from the clock, her heart, soul, and mind ticking away with the minutes.

Wilt was a silent mess; sitting next to Frankie as an imaginary friend should, but emotionally someplace else. Her grandmother sat on her other side, her wrinkled features revealing no emotion at all.

As the time passed at an agonizing snail's pace, the redhead began to pass a few glances about and fidget uneasily like an anxious toddler. Why would nobody look her in the eye? Why would no one say something, _anything_, to pass the time?

She knew that there was nothing anyone could do. They could melt in their own individual thoughts of life and death.

But Frankie was sick of thinking about death.

"Somebody _say_ something!" she blurted out suddenly after an hour of the God-awful awkward silence.

Her grandmother calmly turned to her and replied, "Everything worth saying has already been said, dear."

From his position at the door, Mr. Herriman added, "There's nothing left, Miss Frances."

As the dejected redhead tried to settle down, Wilt squirmed a little as he remembered what he was supposed to tell Bloo and Frankie.

"A-actually…"

He felt all the eyes in the room immediately turn to him, and he shuddered.

"Y-yeah?" Frankie whispered.

"Mac woke up once, just for a moment. He said… he told me to tell you that…"

Bloo stopped staring at the extremely dismal gray wall and turned his unfocused gaze to Wilt.

If it weren't for the bulky cast on her leg, Frankie would've jumped right her feet. "What did he say?"

Warm tears slipped from his eyes. "He said…he said he wants us to…t-to stay together as a family. You, Bloo, and me…"

Both Bloo and Frankie seemed to understand the duty now demanded from them. The little imaginary friend nodded, and quickly put his head in his blob-like arms to try and hide the tears that had began to silently trickle down his features.

Frowning at the pitiful spectacle, the young woman grabbed her remaining crutch and suddenly rose from her seat. Wordlessly she managed to hobble over to the distraught little creature.

"C'mon…" she whispered, awkwardly attempting to bend down a little. "It's okay, it's-"

Fortunately, as soon as he registered what was happening, Bloo required absolutely no second bidding and clumsily clambered up into her one-armed embrace. For a few moments, the young woman quietly held the miserable blob, hugging him like a mother would a distraught infant.

Silence descended upon the group, only to shot down by a sudden sob from the corner of the room.

"Goo…" Wilt whispered. He walked over to the place where the little girl wept and knelt down, still towering over her even with the adjustment of his height.

She sniffed, and looked up from hiding her face in her knees.

"Goo," he said a little louder, "Mac tried to tell me something about you, too, but…"

"But what?" she replied bitterly, turning her face from him.

Wilt bit his lip. "He fell unconscious again."

She looked him in the eyes and he felt the burning rise of her anger and sadness go through him. He put his good arm around her, intending to give her a hug, but she shoved him away.

He sighed. This was going to be harder then he had originally thought. "Listen, I know you're mad at me for not calling," he said while pulling himself to a sitting position, crossing his legs. "You have every right to be angry."

He felt Goo's eyes on him again, and she nodded. "Yeah, I do," she spat suddenly. "Why didn't you call?"

Wilt pondered that for a moment before answering. "I guess I was too wrapped up in trying to figure out how to tell everyone that he wasn't going to make it… I forgot. And then when I thought about it, I couldn't do it. I couldn't face disappointing someone else. That's exactly what

I did, wasn't it? I'm sorry, Goo. I'm sorry, I really am. It was selfish of me, I know. I'm sorry."

Goo hugged her knees closer. "Three times," she muttered.

"What?"

"You said sorry three times. I guess I can't hold it against you forever. And you had a lot on your mind with Frankie not being here, and Mac…" she trailed off.

He attempted to hug her again, and she accepted it, holding the red imaginary friend close to her.

"Thank you," Wilt whispered.

He turned around to see Frankie giving him a weak smile from where she waited.

"Well," Goo replied, "I-I guess there's nothing left to do but wait…"

* * *

"Frankie…Frankie? Frankie!"

The redhead moaned grouchily as the urgent whispers roused her out of a deep slumber.

"Mmmph…" the half-asleep caretaker grunted drowsily, as she wiggled about to get comfortable again. "Later…not now…"

Despite her mumbled refusals, not only did her name continued to be called, but without warning a pair of hands grabbed her by the jacket and began to shake her wildly.

"Frankie! Frankie! Frankie!" the whispers swiftly escalated into hoarse whines. "Frankie! C'mon, Frankie, wake up! Frankie!"

After a particularly rough shake jerked her entire lanky frame, her eyes snapped open as she was fully awakened with an annoyed growl.

"Hey, _what_ do you think you're-"

She quickly recognized her surroundings and everyone else sitting about, all dozing silently. However, she was still a bit confused at first, and it wasn't until she glanced straight into the nearly bulging eyes of the unmistakably frantic Bloo sitting atop her lap that everything came flooding back to her, the memories rushing into her mind like an immense flood. Immediately she bolted upright in her seat with a start.

"Bloo?" she murmured, instinctively stroking his head a little. "What's wrong? What's-"

Whimpering softly, he speechlessly tugged upon her jacket and pointed to the doorway, where an anonymous nurse stood with pursed lips.

The redhead gasped and swept the little imaginary friend into a tight hug as the rest of her body went completely rigid with surprise.

"It's…I-it's about _them_, isn't it?" she managed to whisper breathlessly after glancing to the clock and realizing how much time had passed. Bloo whimpered and fidgeted about anxiously as the mysterious nurse nodded slowly.

"Miss Foster, the procedure…"

* * *

**Author's notes: Well, that's it for me!!! I want to thank each and every one of you for putting up with my lack of writing skills and time to update. **

**I would especially like to thank my co-author (Dude13) for being flexible with his fantastic ideas, writing, and for basically including me. He's a fantastic writer; but all of you who are reading this know that already!!! I just hope that I can work to get to the point he's at… He was a fantastic co-author, and I'd gladly work with him again. **

**Thanks again, everyone! **

**-Marty :-D **


	17. Epilogue: Time Heals All Wounds

Hooray! Everything's all fixed! My apologies though to my co-author and to everyone else for all trouble and/or confusion I may have caused.

A **_huge_ **thanks to all those who've stayed with us this entire time!

* * *

The cemetery was deathly silent. Not a sound could be heard, excluding the rustle of leaves from the occasional gust of wind. 

Suddenly, the relative calm was abruptly shattered by the soft thud of footsteps as a single visitor suddenly entered the property. As she strolled through the open iron gateway, Frankie paused for a moment as she was beset by a nasty case of the chills that seemed to race up from the base of her spine to her neck. It never mattered how many months it had been since she started making this visits, she couldn't help but get plagued every time by the abundance of bad memories it brought up for her.

Nevertheless, Frankie took a deep breath and continued on, humming a small willy-nilly tune to help calm her nerves.

While navigating about the myriad of tombstones and grave markers, the young woman couldn't help but be thankful for the fact that she was no longer limited to bumbling about on her crutches any more, ever since her cast had been removed. Even now, she could've help but relish in the sensation of freely strolling about without the assistance of those cumbersome walking aids. While musing aimlessly about this fact, the girl made a quick mental note not to take such a basic freedom for granted again.

Finally, after a few minutes of what appeared to be mindless wandering, the redhead found exactly what she was looking for. Coming to a halt, she nodded respectfully to the two near-identical gravestones.

"Hey," She murmured, mustering up a weak grin. "It's me."

As soon as formalities were finished, the girl went straight to work by swiftly removing the small backpack she was carrying slung across one shoulder. Moving about silently, she carefully removed two small bouquets of flowers from her pack, and delicately placed one upon each grave with the utmost reverence.

Once finished with her offering, she automatically snatched up two older, badly wilted bunches of flowers that had already been sitting next to each tombstone long before she had arrived.

"_Blecch_!" Frankie spat at the offending plants before hastily shoving them back inside her bag before actually apologizing to the two gravestones, talking to them as if they were a pair of dear friends. "I'm sorry about that…I _knew_ these things wouldn't last another week out here, I really should've switched them last time. Goodness only knows how many days you had to deal with those eyesores. Yuck!"

After grimacing at the mess in her pack back one final time before zipping it up out of sight, she couldn't help but allow herself to be consumed by a light bout of laughter.

"Sorry…It's just that…well, speaking of gross…we finally got word about what happened to Duchess after all this time. Turns out, after she went at me with the fire poker that night, they shipped her off to some state-run facility for "degenerate imaginary beings" or something like that. Not exactly too sure, all I know is that it doesn't exactly sound like a country club, and chances are looking pretty slim that Her Highness gonna get out of there anytime soon…thank goodness."

At this point her grin widened a little as she continued to giggle.

"Oh, and get _this_. Seeing as Her Majesty isn't residing at the house anymore, Bloo's been trying to get us to turn her old room into a billiards room. Can you believe it? Ha! He just goes on and on, begging us, telling us it'll bring some class to Foster's. Of course, mind you he doesn't really have any idea what he's talking about, as usual." She tittered, rolling her eyes. "By the way he describes what it'll look like, I'm almost positive that what he actually wants to do is get a couple pinball machines installed. Don't try and tell him _that_ though, I made that mistake last week, and he spent half-an-hour telling me why he knew exactly what he was talking about, and…"

Realizing that she had actually been laughing it up with a pair of gravestones, Frankie silenced herself in mid-anecdote and blushed a little in embarrassment, feeling thankful that no one had been there to see her conversing so freely with two people who couldn't answer back.

Nevertheless, her self-imposed silence was doomed to failure, and before she knew it, the caretaker found herself striking up conversation yet again.

"…Sorry about rambling on like that." She chuckled weakly. "Just wanted to let you know how things were going on back at the house, I guess…not really much else besides that…"

She paused for a few moments, glancing down at the ground as she awkwardly shuffled her sneakers against the grass as she searched her mind for anything new to report.

"Well...guess that's it." Frankie muttered while she picked up her backpack and hefted it over her shoulder. "I guess I'll see you two later, huh?"

The redhead delayed her departure for a second or so, staring at the tombstones as if waiting for a reply.

"Sorry, I…" she murmured ruefully as her eyes began to water up. "I…. well, I know I probably say this every time…but…I…."

After a few failed stammered attempts, she finally managed to force the words out with a wan grin.

"…It's nice to see the family back together, huh?"

For a minute or two, she just continued to stand there in dead silence while smiling sadly at the graves. Then, without a single word she turned about and quietly exited, with the two bouquets serving as the only sign that she had ever been there in the first place.

* * *

Frankie sighed heavily as she began to stroll up the walkway to the massive Victorian mansion. She couldn't think of anything more depressing or emotionally draining that her peculiar little weekly visits, which was a bit odd because she made each trip voluntarily and- 

Suddenly, her train of thought derailed when a small soccer ball rolled to a halt against her feet, catching the young woman off guard.

"Huh? " She murmured curiously, leaning down a little to look at it. "What on earth-"

"_There_ it is!"

"It's mine, it's mine!"

"Oh no way, I'm gonna-"

"_LOOK_ _OUT_!"

The air suddenly became thick with excited whoops as a tiny mob descended upon the scene in fierce pursuit of the ball. Unfortunately, all of them scrambling at such a breakneck pace they all realized too soon that there was no way any of them would be able to halt in time without plowing into the unsuspecting redhead.

Luckily, the only girl in the pack managed to successfully swerve around at the last moment, clumsily skidding to a stop with her oversized banana-yellow cowboy boots. Likewise, the azure blob avoided collision by sharply veering off and ending up tumbling flat on his face.

If only the third member of the group had reflexes that were half as quick as the others…

"AUGH!"

"EEEEK!"

_THUD_.

Within a split-second, both little one and caretaker found themselves instantly down on the ground in a messy heap.

"_YES_!" Bloo roared triumphantly as he crawled forward and snatched the soccer ball while it rolled by. "Hahaha! _Told_ you it was mine, I-"

His victory celebration was swiftly cut short as a frantic-looking Goo suddenly grabbed his nonexistent shoulders and began to shake him urgently.

"_What_?" the imaginary friend snapped as his she interrupted his celebration. "What's the…heck are you…uh…oh…"

Finally spotting the hideous wreck of humanity lying not too far off, the little creature allowed the girl to help him back up and together they warily approached the scene of the mini-catastrophe.

"Y-you guys okay?" Goo squeaked as she carefully made her way over. "Guys?"

"Ohhhh…." Frankie groaned dazedly as her head seemed to spin while she lay in a messy sprawl upon her back. "What on earth…"

As she struggled to gather her wits about her, she suddenly heard a yelp of shock followed by the sensation of a flurry of movement atop her, after which the face of an extremely worried-looking little boy came into view.

"...Frankie?" Mac asked softly. "Frankie, are you okay?"

From the way she just stared back blankly, it looked as if she was still badly disorientated from the crash….or at least that's the way it seemed until she sprouted an unsettling mischievous smirk.

"Oh n-"

Mac didn't even have enough time to finish a horrified whimper before the tables were swiftly turned, and in a flash he found himself pinned against the lawn by the fiendishly grinning young woman.

"Well, well, what do we have _here?"_ Frankie sniggered. "Think you can just use me as your personal airbag, huh, Mr. Speed Racer? Eh? Is that it?"

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it!" Mac cried as he immediately began to try squirming loose. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't see you until-"

"Hey, no fair! Let go! Let go! Let go of him! Let go!" Goo began to jabber wildly in her friend's defense. "Mac didn't mean it! Nuh-uh, not at all! Besides, you can't even touch him! Oh no you can't! Nope! Nope! Nope! Not when he's still recovering and all! So hands _off_!"

"_Still_ recovering?" the redhead scoffed with a roll of her eyes. "Oh, please, don't tell me you're using that worn-out excuse again-"

"Well, it's true!" Bloo chimed in. "He's still recovering from the surgery, and-"

"Really? After all these months? Oh yeah, and I guess that was a completely different, much healthier little boy who was racing about like a maniac until he rammed right into me?" Frankie teased before turning her attention back to her prisoner. "Look out, pal, it seems someone out there is trying to frame you."

"Huh? Frankie I never said that I- hahahaha! Quit it! Quit it! Quit it! Heeheehee!" Mac burst out squealing with laughter as the young woman began to mercilessly tickle his belly.

"Don't worry, Forever-Healing baby brother!" Frankie cried mock-heroically as she went to work. "Laughter _is_ the best medicine, we'll have you up and back to normal in no time!"

"Yeeheeheehee! Stoppit! S-stoppit!" he begged, kicking his little legs and thrashing about wildly under her tenacious tickly grip.

"It's okay Mac, it's okay!" the redhead eagerly continued with her joke as she moved to his exposed sides. "As soon as you're _finally_ better, we'll go and hunt your evil but healthy clone, and- _OOF_!"

Frankie yelped in surprise as Goo suddenly sprung forward, ramming into the young woman's side and knocking her onto her back.

"Get her!" the little girl cried, letting loose with a high-pitched battle cry as the playful fight was joined. Before Frankie could put up a decent defense, all three little ones dissolved into helpless laughter as they took their opportunity and simultaneously attacked in an effort to try and bring her down.

"Hey, hey! Get off! Off!" Frankie grunted, squirming about in a desperate attempt to crawl away as they created a miniature dogpile on her.

"Hahaha! _Now_ we gotcha!" Bloo tossed back his head and let cheered triumphantly.

"No fair!" the redhead protested like a whiny toddler. "Three on one, that's cheap! No fair! No fair! No fair! No fair!"

"Say your prayers!" Mac chuckled as he felt the twenty-two-year-old wriggle about helplessly under their combined effort. .

"Please, don't! Stop it guys! No, no, no, no!" Frankie begged shamelessly as the trio seemed to be getting close to overpowering her.

"We're doing it!" Goo whooped. "We're doing it! We're doing it! We're –_AUGH_! We're _not_ doing it! We're _not_ doing it! Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Abort mission!"

Like a Venus flytrap catching its unsuspecting prey, Franke's arms shot up and effortlessly seized all three in a tight bear hug as she promptly dropped the weak-and-helpless façade.

"_My_ turn!" she giggled like mad in triumph. "Oh, and don't think _I'll_ try and use brute force like you, my little barbaric savages!"

"What're you gonna do then?" Goo squeaked curiously. "Hug us to death?"

"_Yes_!" the redhead joked. "After all, only love conquers all-"

"What?" Mac repeated incredulously. "What do you mean by – oh, _blecch_!"

Moving like lightening, the redhead quickly demonstrated how a nauseating amount of affection made an extremely effective weapon. Frankie swiftly planted a quickly sloppy kiss atop the head of every child and imaginary friend in her tenacious grip, who all protested vehemently in clear disapproval of her unorthodox torture methods.

"Aw, now don't we look absolutely adorable together?" Frankie gushed, nuzzling her captives mercilessly and thoroughly enjoying their revolted cries for all it was worth.

"Eww! Stoppit! Stoppit! Cut it out!" Mac protested.

"I'm calling social services on you! You hear me?" Bloo threatened. "So help me, I'll do it!"

"Call someone who knows how to use a mop first, because I think I'm gonna be sick!" Goo groaned.

"But we're just _soooo_ cute!" The caretaker continued, keeping up the disgustingly cutesy routine. "Look at me and my little babies, all of us snugglin' and cuddlin' and-_MMMPH_!"

Her mushy torture session came to an abrupt end when Bloo managed to free a blobbish stub and wasted no time yanking the young woman's sweater hood completely over her face. As soon as Frankie tried to free herself, her prisoners immediately scattered like leaves in the wind.

"Run for it, while she's down!" Bloo yelled as he raced around to the backyard, as Goo giggled hysterically as she followed close behind.

"Nyah! Nyah! Nyah!" she paused to make a face and goad the young woman mercilessly. "Supidlazyslowpoke, can't get us! Heehee! Nyah! Nyah!"

"Oh _yeah_?" Frankie countered, grinning like an idiot a she finally ripped her hood off just in time to see the pair vanish around the side of the house. "Oooooh, just you wait, I'll-"

She was startled by the feeling of a pair of arms wrapping tightly around her stomach. Bewildered, Frankie glanced down to meet the gaze of the bright-eyed little boy as he hugged her warmly.

"Um…" The caretaker stammered, cocking her head curiously. "Pal? Uh, I think the point of the game is for you to keep away from-"

"I didn't say hi yet!" Mac just piped up happily, to which the redhead couldn't help but burst out tittering in response.

"Oh that's right, _someone's_ a big sucker for routine." She snickered, tousling his hair affectionately. "A hello and welcome home to you too, kiddo. Sorry I wasn't here when you got back from school, I just went on a quick walk, see, and-"

"How are mom and Terrence doing?" Mac suddenly piped up. Immediately the smile vanished off her face and Frankie froze up the second the words rolled off his tongue.

"…What?" she finally answered lamely in an attempt to play innocent. "How are who doing?"

"Mom and Terrence!" Mac calmly replied. "You went out to go see them, right?"

Caught in a fib, immediately the caretaker's face lit up with a vibrant scarlet blush as she fidgeted with her ponytail a little. How a kid so young had a mind so sharp, she'd probably never know.

"They're…they're doing just fine, pal…" she answered softly as she began to squirm about guiltily. "I-"

"Yeah?"

"Mac, I'm sorry, I just wanted to replace the flowers, that's all!" Frankie started to babble regretfully. "I know you like it when we go together, and…uh, Mr. Herriman said I needed to…um…and I thought I wouldn't have enough time for…for…"

"Are you trying to come up with an excuse?" Mac asked as he did a poor job of stifling a few amused giggles. At this point the young woman stopped and hung her head a little in embarrassment.

"Sorry…" she apologized somberly. "I should've waited for you to get back, I know, but…well, I just…just….pal, you _know_ I always feel guilty when I don't…well, I-"

"Frankie," the little boy suddenly tugged sharply on her emerald jacket as he continued to try and suppress his laughter at the sight she cut. "So _why_ can't we just go and visit them _tomorrow_?"

Frankie silently gazed for a moment or two at the child and his fat, forgiving smile, as if she was stunned that she had gotten off so easily. What was even worse though was that this wasn't even a once-in-a-lifetime awkward moment. She couldn't even remember how many times she had gotten into a situation like this because she insisted handling this entire subject far too sensitively.

Now here she was again, sitting on the front lawn where her adopted little brother had just caught her fibbing like a naughty toddler. All in all, it was nothing more than the extremely peculiar life she lived in a nutshell. And as Frankie finally cracked a grin, she knew, as always, she wouldn't trade any of what she had for the entire world.

Finally allowing herself to ease up, the redhead burst out giggling as she eagerly swept him up into a tight hug.

"Oh jeez, Lord only knows why I work myself up about this." She snorted with laughter, while she nuzzled him gently. "_Course_ we can go, pal."

"After I get home tomorrow, right?" he inquired excitedly, returning the squeeze.

For a few seconds, Frankie didn't reply, for she was too busy relishing in the fact that she could practically feel the healthy, rhythmic beat of his new heart as she held him close.

"No, I'm gonna go down right after you head out the door for school." She teased, grinning like an idiot. "C'mon, how else are you mom and big bro gonna see how well you're doing? Although…"

"Although?" Mac piped up curiously. The girl only chuckled mischievously as she flashed a sly wink.

"There's not exactly any guarantees you're gonna be doing so well tomorrow…at least not by the time _I'm_ done with you _today_-"

"_Ackpth_!" Mac sputtered as soon as he remembered the game had never officially ended. "No way!"

Thrashing about like mad, he managed to free himself from her hold and back off a few feet.

"Ha! Nice try, Mac Foster, but you can't escape me forever!" The redhead laughed as scrambled atop her hands and knees and began to crawl towards him.

"Yes I can!" Mac snickered, sticking out his tongue impudently. "You can't catch me! You can't catch me! You can't catch me!"

"I'll get you my pretty, and your little imaginary blob, too!" Frankie cackled. "C'mere!"

With that she dove forward in a powerful lunge and tackled him to the ground. They had barely made contact with the lawn though before Mac immediately began to squirm about wildly.

"Quit it! Lemmego! Lemmego!" he yelped as he struggled, while the redhead playfully tried to wrestle him into submission.

"Heeheehee! I don't think so, pal! You're so going down-"

The words had barely rolled off her tongue before he managed to squirm out of her grip faster than a greased eel.

"Hey! Get back here, you little-"she cried as she made an unsuccessful grab. Mac just snorted with laughter and was off like a rocket.

"Haha! _Told_ you! Can't catch me!" he shouted in mock defiance before darting off.

Shaking with mirth, Frankie managed to clumsily clamber back to her feet. Although she wanted to give chase and continue the game, she couldn't help but pause and watch blissfully for a moment as he darted off behind the house to join his friends.

Back when he was hovering between life and death with a failing heart, she had wanted nothing more than to simply watch him bound about, as a normal child should. Now that he had made a full recovery Frankie found that there were fewer things that gave her more pleasure than simply seeing him scamper and play, looking as healthy and fit as could possibly be. To her, the very fact that she could simply stand there and watch her adopted little brother sprint around the front yard seemed to be nothing short of a miracle to her. Smiling contently from ear to ear, Frankie peered to the sky for a moment as her thoughts turned to the brave soul who had made this possible.

She couldn't lie, the initial trauma of those few weeks long ago, all topped off with the horrific shock of that cold, rainy night at the hospital, added with Mac's long recovery process, none of it had been easy to get through.

Despite that undeniable truth, as hard as she could try the young woman could find no anger to harbor towards Terrence. As far as she was concerned, all was forgiven the moment the raven-haired teenager had had gotten over his rage and confusion long enough to sacrifice everything he had in a final attempt to save his little brother. If anything, she felt that she was the one who had a dept to repay, one that she hoped her undying appreciation would be enough to do the job.

Just before she raced off in playful pursuit after Mac and the other little ones, Frankie paused to glance heavenwards to voice her gratitude in the same manner she did several times a day, always with the utmost sincerity.

"Thank you..."

**The End**


End file.
